


A War and a Half

by bakerstreetashtray



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Smut, WW2, World War Two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 51,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1692629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerstreetashtray/pseuds/bakerstreetashtray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of World War Two, James Moriarty's father runs a very particular kind of business - a business that James and his brothers will take on when they marry. It's helped him stay home from war, and live in the kind of luxury that he rightly deserves. </p>
<p>Unfortunately, his search for a wife takes a rather bizarre turn, and in such a small town, secrets can't stay that way for long..<br/> </p>
<p>[mormorphone.tumblr.com]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
> [Art by Hippano](http://hippano.tumblr.com/post/87613649811/fanart-for-mormorphones-latest-fic-a-war-and-a)

**  
Jim**

Don't get me wrong here - I don't want to sound insensitive; but I love England in war time. That isn't to say that I love the bombs. Of course, I race for the shelters like everyone else, but that aside? It's peachy. 

 

No men, except when the soldiers come back on leave, the arrogant pigs. No children, all evacuated out of London. Make no mistake, I'm not pleased because of the women. I can't stand the women. But less company means less irritation, and that's all fine with me. 

 

I guess you could say I'm one of the lucky ones. I happened to come by some very important documentation that allowed me to stay home from war, and our food is never rationed. I'm nineteen years old. Hell, I should be blown to bits right now - and honey, if you'd seen me.. I wouldn't last five minutes. Nor would I last on the pitiful amount of sustenance the commoners are provided. 

It's all fair, really. In love and war - that's what they say, anyway.

 

My father runs this business, you see. We take care of anything from petty theft jobs, to grandscale mass murder. Don't act so shocked - how else did you think I could bypass the system? Selling fucking bread? 

 

It's not as bad as you think. Most of the time I like it. Gives you a real buzz. Most men that we kill are men that deserve to die, though I suppose you do get the odd woman, or someone that begs and cries. My father hates those. He says we should always die with dignity. And yet, he wouldn't let me go to war with the conscription. I suppose I have to die with the right kind of dignity.

 

And a wife. He broke that one to me during my last kill. He always stands in on my kills, and it really gets on my nerves, you know? Like I can't even be trusted to slit a throat, though I've already been doing this for three years. Anyway, he says 'James. Son.' - and straight away, I know this is going to be bad. First off, because my name is Jim, and he ever calls me James. And second off, because he's reminding me that I'm his son. That means I owe him something.

 

'James. Son'. He says. 'I was twenty when I married your mother. It's about time you found yourself a nice girl.'

 

A nice girl. Like our family is the place for nice girls, or any girls at all. I wonder if he knows that I know about all the affairs that he's had. I'm fairly sure my mother knows, too. She spends most of her time drinking and smoking, and listening to her music on the phonograph. Really sad music, you know the type. 

 

  
_She_  wanted me to go to war.

 

\--

 

So this is how I came to be here. Jim Moriarty, nineteen years old - got a date at home with a banana milkshake, and yet here I am, dressed to the nines on a bloody.. Wednesday night. I can hear the dance hall playing Gene Krupa before I even get close, the music muffled through the walls of the Church hall, the rising jive beat from the live band in there. That's why I chose tonight to go. Every other night it's just another phonograph.

 

So I'm making my way down the path, wearing my pinstriped tuxedo - real subtle like, none of those garish funfair outfits - fitted by my own personal tailor, the man thankfully too old to be at war. Waistcoat underneath, and a hat in my hand, though I take it off as I duck inside. I've got my manners, after all. And I just can't stop thinking about that damn banana milkshake waiting for me at home. Real hard for my father to get - bananas aren't on the ration list, aren't even imported to Britain anymore, some sort of issue with Brazil. I don't know. I didn't ask. But he bought a case. And I set the cook to work, this morning.

 

It's probably sitting there waiting for me.

 

The thought is almost enough for me to turn back, but father would be annoyed. I have to stay long enough to pretend that I tried. I resist a sigh, tipping myself a plastic cup full of punch and walking over to the long benches, taking a sip as I sit down and check my pocket watch. 6.35pm. Well, I'll have to stay for at least an hour. This is going to be dire.

 

The band is playing Glenn Miller now, and the song is so cheerful that I have to roll my eyes. Across from me are benches full of women, most of them sitting straight, watching the passing men like hawks, or fixing their hair and make-up. Expecting a dance. Well, I'm sure as hell not going to ask any to dance. A few couples already turn on the dancefloor, and with a grimace, a slow realisation hits me. The place is swarming with soldiers. A few in uniform, a few not, but undoubtedly soldiers. Great. I chose a day in the middle of the leave period. I'd never find a wife here, even if I was committed to the cause. The thought is actually a little relieving - I can go home. Father will understand. He'll share a sigh with me, tell me to try again next week, and I'll have my banana milkshake and go to bed. The women of Croydon will simply have to go on without me.

 

I begin to drain my punch when the bench creaks, a heavy weight sitting down beside me. I turn to tell the guy to mind himself, he's practically damned _sitting_  on me - when I see his grin. It's the first thing I notice. He stares straight at me and grins, like I'm something funny. The second thing I notice is that he's much bigger than me, and dressed head to toe in his khaki uniform - if I offend him, he could take me down in front of all the girls, and then who would I get to marry me? Half the town must be here. I open my mouth and then close it, a little angrily. He's still grinning. He's got blue eyes and his hair falls into them, brown hair turned lighter by the sun, curling at the edges. I wonder how he's managed to keep hair that long in the army. I shuffle a few inches away, wishing that I'd brought some kind of weapon. Service men may be free with their fists, but I've discovered that I'm damn good with a knife. And I bet he's the sort to turn yellow with fear the moment I flash the blade.

 

He shifts closer too, and nudges me with a shoulder. Maybe it's because I'm smaller, but the action nearly knocks me off the bench.   
"Sorry, little man." He says, that smile still in his words as he reaches out and pulls me back, but I shrug him off, scowling as I straighten my suit. Ham-handed idiots, the lot of them. My insides are burning. "You waiting for someone to ask you to dance?" He jokes, and I catch just the slightest hint of the Irish accent in his voice. Not as strong as mine, but it's rare enough to catch my attention, and I turn to him with a withering look.  
"I'm not one of the  _girls._ " I straighten my back, feeling short sitting next to him. He turns to look at me again, and he's still bloody smiling at me. I continue, shrugging at the benches on the other side of the room. "Don't much like the look of any of the talent."

He raises his eyebrows, tilts his head at me. "You serious, little man? Some beautiful girls over there." He shakes his head just slightly, and I give him a look that's near scathing. The slight Irish lilt curls his words quite nicely. I wish mine was like that. I sound too crisp.

  
"Then go and ask one to dance."   _And stop bothering me._  


"You from Ireland?" He asks me, seeming pleasantly surprised as he turns to me properly, swinging one leg over the other side of the bench. I stay facing forward, not wanting to associate with him. My cheeks burn at his interest, though. I cross my arms stiffly over my chest.

 

"My mother and father are. They moved here a few months before I was born." I pause for a moment, and narrow my eyes, glancing at him, and then back to the wall on the other side of the room. "Not that it's your business. Mind your own."

"My Ma's Irish." He informs me, before laughing quietly and punching me in the shoulder. "You gonna look at me, sweet?"

It wasn't a hard hit, but my hand slides over the area anyway, as if trying to erase that touch. The 'sweet' brings out another burn in my cheeks, and I suddenly wonder if he thinks that I'm.. I push the thought from my mind. He's a soldier. That's impossible. He's mocking me, is all. I decide not to acknowledge it, not let him get any satisfaction from it. I turn to look at him, pointedly slowly.

 

The moment I do, he smiles again, and his teeth are very straight and even. That smile threatens to pull one onto my own lips, a daft  response, and I have to press my lips together to stop it, looking like some old school marm, no doubt. He laughs at me again, large hands resting on khaki thighs either side of the bench, and then opens his mouth, Irish lilt singing along quietly to the Perry Como song playing.

 

" _..I'm always chasing rainbows.. Watching clouds drifting by._."

I roll my eyes at him, and look firmly forwards again. He leans a little closer, and continues, singing the words by my ear, his tune low and amused. 

 

" _..My schemes are just like.. all of my dreams._."

 

He's got quite a handsome singing voice. 

 

". _.Ending in the sky_.."

 

I give an exaggerated sigh, and look at him, eyebrows raised as if I'm disinterested. My cheeks are red, I can feel it. 

"Are you quite finished?" I ask snippily, and he shrugs, leaning back a few inches as a couple walk past, though the moment they're gone, that smile slides back onto his face. 

"I'll sing to you all night, sweet." He tells me, and then, "Can I get you another drink?" His fingers close around mine on the empty cardboard cup, and I draw them away hurriedly, leaving it in his grasp. That smile returns, and I scowl at him again, though my heart flutters in my chest like a bird, in a way that no girl has ever made it dance. The realisation is unsettling.

 

"I'm here to look for a wife." I inform him crisply, straightening and sliding further down the bench, fixing my gaze back on the girls. I think it ought to set him straight, but he slides right down after me, that grin not having ebbed one fraction. 

"That so?" He asks me, though it sounds like he's teasing again. He follows my gaze to the girls, and then stands, my punch cup in his hand. "Alright then. I'll tell you what, sweet." He winks at me.  "I'll go get us some punch - and if you're dancing with a girl by the time I'm back, you'll never see me again." 

 

"The sooner the better." I mutter, and he laughs again, bending down. 

"Off you go, then. Find a wife."

Just to spite him, I stand up, my hands clenched by my sides as I begin over the dancefloor.

"Sweet!" He calls, and I turn around, responding to the pet name, much to my chagrin. Who the hell does this idiot think he is? He's leaning back against the wall, watching me with that grin. "The name's Moran." He informs me, a call over the dance floor. I'm not going to shout back at him, so I just turn away, making a beeline towards the bench of girls, though I realise now that I have no plan prepared to actually ask any to dance. I wasn't prepared for this. No clue about what to say, who to ask.. I know how to dance, of course. But this was a terrible idea. But I know he's watching me, so I have to do something.

 

The song changes - You're a Heavenly Thing by Mel Torme, and a few faces light up, immediately looking around for someone to dance with. I glance over at the refreshments table, and of course there he is - Moran stands, swaying slightly from foot to foot, drinking from my punch cup with a smile on his face, giving me the nod. Soldiers. Arrogant pigs. The worst kind of people.

Right then. 

 

I stride closer to the girls with a sense of purpose, and open my mouth, looking at a row of them and hoping that if I ask, at least one will accept. Just to prove a point. But a girl interrupts me, a short redhead, dressed in a white scalloped blouse and a skirt that begins at her waist. "Dance with me!" She calls, and I nod, a little relieved, offering a hand.

 

She doesn't take my hand so much as she grabs it, dragging me to the dancefloor and immediately beginning to swing me around with the kind of raucous desperacy that makes me think that she's never asked to dance, but enjoys it. She throws me around like a rag doll, and I swallow, finding it difficult to keep up. I'm not even sure she's doing the correct steps. My eyes wander to Moran as she twirls beneath my arm, and that grin is now pursed, shaking as if he's trying damn hard not to guffaw at me. Sure enough, as I watch, he bursts out laughing, and hides his face behind my punch cup. My cheeks burn hot, and the girl pushes me, trying to get me to focus, to twirl her again.

  
"I'm Maureen!" She shouts at me, and I give a short smile, letting her tug my arms around as if she's trying to remove them from the sockets.   
"Jim."   
"You know, you're the first person to ask me to dance all night, Jim." She says, still raising her voice over the din of the band, though the song is drawing to a close, thank God. 

"I'd never have guessed." I answer wryly, but she seems to miss it, spinning me around the dancefloor like we're children. Maybe it's the punch, but I feel dizzy, and her hands are clammy, ironclad grips on mine. I'm looking for Moran again, but there's no sign of him. I frown, realising with the slight flutter of disappointment in my chest that this was all for his benefit. I have less than no interest in Maureen.

 

As the song ends, I pry my hands from hers. "Bathroom." I say apologetically, and she smiles, nodding. "I'll get us some drinks!" She says, a little too loudly for the lull in the music. I purse my lips into a flat smile and turn, heading for the second set of Church toilets, down a hallway and a set of stairs. Further away, basically.

 

It's dark down here, but it's cooler and calmer, strains of the band upstairs still floating down to me. They're playing The Way You Look Tonight by Peggy Lee, and I thank God that I left when I did. It's a slow song. You dance to a slow song, and they've got you snared. 

 

I stand in the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I feel strange, and it's all the fault of the soldier. Moran. I say his name in my mind with a sneer. We spoke for only a few minutes, and yet he's managed to throw off my entire evening. Now, I can't say that I never had my doubts about myself, because I have. Never taken an interest in girls, but never really thought about.. the other. Men. Just thinking the word makes me cringe. It's a shameful, shameful thing. But that smile.. those eyes. I only met him five minutes ago, I tell myself exasperatedly. I'm being ridiculous. I should go back out there and dance with Maureen, or at least just go home. I splash my face with water and head out of the bathroom, my mind still reeling.

 

 I almost don't see him, leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door, looking down into my punch cup, just a hint of that same grin on his face. I only stop walking when I hear his voice, singing quietly, lazily to It's Only A Paper Moon.

  
_"Say it's only a paper moon.. sailing over a cardboard sea.."_

I turn around slowly, a smile slipping onto my lips. Small, and reluctant but it's there. I keep my eyes on the floor. He pushes himself away from the wall, the smile growing on his own.

 

  
_"..But it wouldn't be make-believe.."_  He reached forward and taps me on the end of the nose, though his fingers slip down, grazing over my cheek before pulling back. I almost jump away. It's wrong. It's very wrong. " _..If you believed in me_."

The strains of the song go on behind him, but he stops singing, just smiling at me, and taking a slow sip of the punch. My mind has stopped reeling, but an uneasy sense of foreboding settles in my chest along with the thudding of my heart. That smile makes me feel funny. 

"How's your new wife?" He asks me after a moment, that same teasing tone in his Irish lilt. I roll my eyes, and fold my arms across my chest, giving him a pointed look.

"I thought you said you'd leave me alone, if I danced with a girl."

"I did." He agrees, and tosses the punch cup into a nearby bin. He takes a step closer, and I'm suddenly rather aware that we're alone, underneath the dance hall in a dim corridor. I could do whatever I wanted. No one would know. The thought makes me feel a little dizzy. This is wrong. Moran goes on, though he keeps his hands by his sides, to my relief. "..But I didn't give my word, sweet."

"You just wanted to see me make a fool of myself." I say crisply, and arch an eyebrow at him. He laughs quietly, tilting his head at me.

"Don't be daft, now. You looked like you were having a great time."

"A great time?" I ask incredulously. "She almost pulled my arms from their sockets."

 

"Yeah?" Moran reaches over and puts his hands at the crooks of my arms, sliding them over the fabric of my suit until they reach my shoulders, where he squeezes. I stay still, my heart thudding again. "Somehow sweet, I don't think you're made for a wife.."

His arms are either side of me, and my eyes slide to his mouth, though even the action seems wrong. This entire thing is wrong. I  _am_ made for a wife, because I require a wife. To carry on the Moriarty name and the business. I don't even know what I'm doing. Father would be appalled. The thought is enough to let me drag myself away from Moran, almost stumbling into the wall. 

"Careful-" He says, grabbing hold of one of my hands, but I pull away again, swallowing and shaking my head, backing away down the corridor.

"I'm not what you think I am." I say, my words scathing. He raises his eyebrows, taking a step or two towards me, that smile fading a little. "I'm not one of _those._ "

 

"I never-"

"I'm leaving now."

I turn my back on him and hurry back up the stairs, heading straight outside into the cool night air. I hear a few calls of "Jim!", and for a moment I think they're him, before I remember that I didn't even tell him my name. They're Maureen, and the realisation has me running back down the path even faster. 

 

My heart flips over in my chest. I feel like I've discovered something about myself that I never wanted to know. This was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

 

Suddenly, I don't feel much like that banana milkshake.

 

\--

 


	2. 2

**Sebastian**

For a moment when I wake up, I think I'm still in France. I manage to blink it away, sit up in the daylight of the room, and then get dressed. Ma calls me through for breakfast, and I pad into the kitchen and kiss her on the cheek. I'm wearing an old pair of my Da's trousers, since Ma seems to have taken my entire uniform for the wash. She's made toast and eggs, and sets down a cup of tea and I feel guilty for using up her rations - they don't take into account the soldier's leave, so she'll just be given enough for one.  
  
"Thanks, Ma." I say, and squeeze her hand, before digging in. She leans over and pushes a hand through my hair, straightening it like she did when I was younger. She's dressed in her pinafore, ready to go off to the factory for the day.   
  
"Did you have a good time?" She asks me, and I chew, a slow smile beginning on my face. She gives me a very pointed smile, and I laugh, finishing my mouthful before I answer her.  
  
"Maybe. I might have met someone." I lift a piece of egg to my mouth and chew purposely slowly.  
  
"Sebastian!" She bats her hands at me, demanding more information and I laugh again, holding up my hands in mock surrender and dropping the knife and fork.  
  
"Ma! Can't I eat breakfast first?"  
  
"No."

 

I run a hand through my hair and then cut up another piece of toast, dipping it in my egg. I watch her carefully.

"..Not a girl." I say, and she blinks at me for a long few moments before sighing. I frown a little, but she adds a spoonful of sugar to my tea and stirs, before tapping the teaspoon on the edge of the ceramic. I worry that I've disappointed her. 

"Was he cute?" 

The question catches me off guard, and I laugh, looking at her like she's mad. Maybe she is. She'd have to be, to raise me. I answer slowly, my words amused. "Yeah.. Yes, I suppose he was. You're unbelievable Ma, you know that?"

"You just don't get yourself into trouble!" She chides me, batting me with a tea towel. I roll my eyes and take a sip of my tea. Getting myself into trouble is what I do best. Trust her to be alright with this. Ma's always had my back like that.  "..What's his name?"

I finish the breakfast and pick up the cup of tea, running my fingers around the edge of the ceramic. "..Jim."  Of course, he didn't tell me. Probably on purpose, that. But I heard his girl calling after him. I danced with a few more girls, and then went home. Kind of took the light out of my night, seeing him run off like that. And I needed my sleep. Only got back from France a few hours before I went out. 

 

Ma sits down next to me, and pours herself a cup of tea.

"You know any Jims?" I ask her. "Can't be many men in this town not in the war. Young. From money."

 

She frowns, tilting her head at me, in a way that I do myself sometimes. "He didn't tell you his surname?"

"..I don't think he much liked me."

Ma gives a hoot of laughter. "And you want to court him!"

 

I grin in turn, though drop my gaze. "It's not that funny! Obviously not in public. But.. yeah. Maybe."

 

She thinks for a moment, and that amusement seems to ebb from her eyes, her expression becoming a little wary as she holds her cup to her lips.

"What?" I ask, squeezing her hand again. "What is it?"

 

"No Jims.. But there is a James." She frowns at me. "He lives by the bread shop."

"A baker's boy?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. It doesn't seem right. His clothes were much too fine to belong to just a baker's boy, and surely he'd have been conscripted to fight..

"He's no baker's boy." Ma replies, and sets down her cup, taking my hands in hers. She frowns. "The bread in the shop is always dry and stale. And the owner, Moriarty, is never there. Annie says that she thinks they do business. Other business.  _Bad_  business, Sebastian.."

"Annie says that? And how does Annie know?"  Annie is one of our neighbours, and works with Ma at the factory. There's a gaggle of them, they walk there together every morning, a flock of waddling pinafores and hairnets, squawking about the day's gossip. 

"She says that everyone knows _. I_ didn't know. But something's got to be wrong. A baker with bad bread!"

"..What sort of business is bad business, then?" 

 

A Dick Haymes song floats out over the kitchen from the wireless, and the peaceful crooning seems at odds with Ma's expression as she leans towards me and mouths 'killing people', her eyes wide.

 

"Ma," I remind gently, though I'm a little surprised at Jim. He seemed so delicate. Though.. I force myself to remember that we only shared twenty five minutes, and ten of those were spent apart, me watching him from across the hall. It's always the quiet ones. "I kill people for a living."

She bats me with a hand again. "It's not the same!" 

"Isn't it?" I ask, and take a sip of my tea, before beginning to hum the song's tune. Ma gives a slightly helpless sigh, and props her chin on her hand.

"You won't listen to a word I say anyway, will you?"

I tilt my head to the side and grin. "..Probably not."

"..Then just be  _careful_ , Sebastian. I only have you left." She reaches out to stroke my cheek, and I lean into her hand, the skin rough from work. I wish I could have given her riches. She deserves everything, my Ma. 

"You won't get rid of me that easily." I muse, and she taps me on the nose, standing up. She begins to potter around the kitchen, washing up the breakfast dishes and singing along. Soon, I join in, leaning back in my chair, and we're singing together.

 

_"..And darling, then I read.. Again from the start.. Love letters, straight from your heart.."_

 

 

\--

 

After breakfast, I dress in my Da's old clothes and they fit me well. I wear his trousers with braces over a white shirt, the shirtsleeves pushed back to the elbows. It's a nice day outside, and I wouldn't wear my heavy khakis even if they weren't sodden in the washing bowl. I kiss Ma goodbye at the door, watch her join her friends at the gate and wave her off. She's left me a lunchbox on the side, and I shake my head. I wonder if she's gone without lunch, to leave me something to eat. 

 

I head out, enjoying the sun on my arms. I'm wearing one of my own old pairs of shoes beneath Da's trousers, his own sold months ago for extra money. I go over what Ma said in my mind, still a little amused about how easily she accepted what I told her. No crying about grandchildren, no calling me a heathen.. Though I don't know what I expected. This is Ma, after all. 

 

But Jim, a murderer? Or at least, coming from a family that murders for money. I have to keep reminding myself that I don't know him. That he probably won't be happy to see me, even if I do find him. Seems like he was learning a few things about himself last night. Finding a wife? Jesus Christ. I wonder if that was his Da's idea.

 

I run a shy hand through my hair as I approach the 'Moriarty and Sons Bakery', and straighten the braces over my shoulders, before stepping inside the store. It's nearly empty, which isn't surprising. People just don't have the money for more than a loaf or two of fresh bread - though maybe Ma was right, and it's bad. There are a couple of boys behind the counter, and both have Jim's dark eyes. Brothers or cousins, I guess. Couple years older than me.

"Can I help you?" One asks me, his arms folded atop the counter. The other one is counting the money from the till, sorting the coins into neat piles. 

"Yeah, I'm looking for Jim?" I say, deciding that this place could use a little brightening up. No radio either. Dust on the counter. The bread in the display looks weeks old. "He told me to come find him today. Owes me a shilling for drinks."

I lie smoothly, not sure why. Maybe because these guys don't look the type to just tell me where he is. Nor do they look the type to work in a bakery. 

"He's with my Father today." The first one answers. "You his friend? He don't have many friends." He pauses for a moment, and then extends an arm over the counter. "Jack."

"Seb." I say, and shake his hand. He jabs a thumb at his brother.

"This is Tommy. We're his brothers. Well, two of 'em." Tommy barely glances up from his coins, but shakes my hand anyway. 

"There's more of you?" I ask amusedly, and Jack nods. "Oh yeah, we got a real big family. Jim's youngest. Craig's the oldest. He's always with my Father though. Rest of us take it in turns."

"..Working the shop?"

The two boys glance at each other. "..Yeah." Tommy says after a moment. "Working the shop."

 

I nod, averting my gaze for a moment, wondering if they meant to be that obvious. Maybe Ma was right. Maybe Annie was right.

 

"..So where can I find him?" I ask eventually, but Jack is already shaking his head.

"You can't." He tells me. "They'll be back later though. Come to the house. You know where it is?" 

 

I shrug, and Tommy hunts around for a piece of paper, writing an address on it. 

"You're alright, Seb." Jack says as the other boy hands it over, and he passes me a loaf of bread, on the house. I feel like it's a kind of compliment, a high kind of praise. I'm alright. 

"You don't have to-"

"It's fine. No one's buying this shit anyway."

 

\--

 

I buy some jam with money from my pay check on the way home, and leave it with the bread on the kitchen counter, a surprise for when Ma comes home. I head over to the factory with the lunchbox, and find her, sure enough, sitting empty handed while her friends eat lunch on the grass outside. She bats at me with her hands and refuses to take it, but I tell her that I've already eaten and she finally gives in, though not before I'm laughing at her swatting me around the ears. 

 

I'm dragged into a half hour conversation about work and guns and Frenchmen with the gaggle of older women on the grass, and they share their lunches with me, bits here and there. It's nice, in the sunshine. Too soon, they have to go back inside and I give Ma a hug before watching them. The factory chimneys puff thick smoke into the blue sky, and I sigh, turning back to take a slow walk back into town.

 

I pass a game of football on the town park, a few men from my regiment playing - shirts and skins. They beckon me over and glance back, before deciding that it's too early for Jim to be back. He might not even want to see me. To be honest, it's most likely that he won't. I play a couple of games, and we win the first and lose the second. By the end of it, my Da's trousers are scuffed at the knee, and there's a grass stain on the shirt. I'm still laughing as I head back towards town, still being shouted at from the grass, the boys trying to draw me into the tiebreaker game, but I've already unrolled the address from my pocket.

 

When I finally reach the house, I let out a low whistle - of course, it's damned massive. Could fit three or four of Ma's tiny house into it, and no way does this belong to a baker. There's a shiny car parked out front, too. I don't know the maker. Clearing my throat, I straighten my braces again and begin to walk over the gravel to the front door.

 

 

\--

 


	3. 3

**Jim**

Today's kill was a messy one, and I think that maybe subconsciously, I was trying to prove something to myself. Prove that I'm still a man, that I'm still good enough to be part of the business and follow in Father's footsteps. Even if I.. 

 

I squeeze my eyes shut each time I think about it. About him - Moran. I thought about it all night long, going over every word we spoke to one another, until I'm not sure who said what, or what any of it meant. Maybe the whole thing was just a joke. Maybe I misinterpreted something. 

 

My father has to clear his throat to pull my attention from the dead man, and I stand, wiping a bloodied arm across my brow. He pats me on the back, and then drives me home. The client will be very pleased, he tells me. The wife. It's always the wives. Part of the reason that I don't want one, though of course Father brings that up too. He drives with one wrist resting on the steering wheel, grey hair slicked back as he speaks. He's only forty eight. He shouldn't even be grey yet. I wonder if I'll go grey that young. Stresses of the job.  

 

I tell him reluctantly about Maureen, and he slaps me around the ear for leaving early, telling me that I should have stayed and made plans to court her. I grimace out of the car window, my clothes still bloodied. My brother Craig is married, and Tommy and Jack have both been courting girls for a few months. They might be friends - or sisters. I don't care enough to find out. It's my turn next, and the thought fills me with dread. So I choose not to think about it. I think about last night, instead, and an even bigger dread. That I might be.. _that._  


 

We pull up at the house and head inside, and one of the maids has set out a bath for me, ready and waiting. I slam the bathroom door particularly hard, and my father yells, his pride at my kill diminishing in the wake of my inability to snare myself a woman. I swear at the back of the door and then sink into the water.

 

When I come out, it's red.

 

\--

 

I'm padding back to my room in my slacks and a vest, my muscles relaxed and only aching slightly after the bath, and my hair hanging wet over my forehead. I see something out of the corner of my eye from the upper hall window, and freeze in a mixture of shock and horror, and something else that I don't want to think about. It's him. Moran. He's wearing real clothes - trousers, braces and a shirt, and is walking over the gravel towards my front door - and is he a total idiot?! Is he just going to bloody knock on the..!?

I race downstairs, my bare feet slapping on the tile, and reach the door before he can knock, yanking it open. I look at him with a mixture of exasperation and outrage, and he blinks back at me for a moment in surprise, before that slow smile spreads over his face again. 

My cheeks grow hot, and I swear under my breath, still holding onto the door as I toe on a pair of shoes on the mat. I step outside and slam the door behind me, grabbing his arm and steering him hurriedly around the back of the house, down the garden towards my father's 'tool shed'. Moran is laughing as I drag him, and when I finally release him, I round on him and hiss; 

" _Shut up_. What in God's name are you doing here?" 

 

"Nice to see you again too, sweet." He says, his words amused. He hooks a thumb beneath one of his braces, and I cover my chest with my arms, aware that I'm just wearing a damned vest. "Or should I say, Jim. Maureen was kind enough to tell me your name, though I don't think she's a very happy young lady."

He shakes his head, and I scowl at him.

 

"That was your fault anyway." I say, before looking at him and holding my arms out exasperatedly. "How did you find out where I live?"

"Your brothers wrote it down for me."

I run my hands over my eyes, resisting the urge to groan. "You went to the bakery." I purse my lips. "What'd you say to them?"

 

Moran just laughs, taking a step closer to me and glancing up at the house. "Will you relax?" He says, a little more quietly, and his voice has the same soft drawl that I remember from last night. I swallow, and hug myself tighter, not feeling like I killed a man today. I feel powerless.

 

"I swear to God," I begin, "If you-"

"I'm not daft." He says, and smiles again, tilting his head at me. "Told 'em you owed me money, sweet."

 

Relief crashes over me, and I nod. Silence falls for a few long seconds. We're just standing in the longer grasses behind my father's tool shed. He's watching me carefully, that daft smile still lingering on his lips. It makes me feel sick, that smile. And not in a bad way. But at the same time, completely and absolutely in a bad way.

 

I scratch awkwardly at one of my arms, and glance around us again, before asking in a gruff little mutter;

 

"What do you want, then? Why'd you come here?"

I fix my eyes on the grass. I was fairly sure that I made my point clear last night. I'm not one of those. I need a wife, and I need to put a baby in her, and I need to keep my father's business alive. We all do. Jack, Tommy, Craig and I. Together. I refuse to be the damned runt of the litter.

"We have unfinished business." Moran informs me, and leans back against the shed, watching me amusedly. 

"That so?" I ask, arching an eyebrow, my tone unimpressed. "Cause I told you everything you needed to know about me, last night."

"Not everything." He answers with a half shrug. "..Didn't tell me that you kill people for a living."

I freeze at that, a cold feeling in my stomach. Is he threatening to go to the police? Have I fallen into some kind of.. police queer trap?

 

"Not a living if you don't get paid yet." I hiss in response, clenching my fists by my sides. I narrow my eyes at him. "What's it to you?"

He laughs at my anger, and I press my lips together, hating that it ebbs away. How is it that he  _does_ that? Moran lifts his fingers to his brow in a mock salute.

"I kill people for a living, too." He says simply. "And before you tell me that it's different, sweet.." He sighs. "..It isn't."

 

"..You don't care?" I say, my anger fading, replaced with a kind of incredulity. "..That I kill people?" I take a step closer almost unconsciously, and he shrugs, still leaning against the wall.

"I'm no hypocrite."

"..And you're not telling anyone?" I say dubiously, and lean onto the shed beside him. He turns, bringing us closer than I'd anticipated. I swallow, and try and remind myself of my place. My definite attraction to women. My definite desire for a wife.

 

"Think your father and brothers would get me first." He muses, though his words are lower, quieter in the space between us. My heart is thudding unsteadily, and my eyes fall of their own volition to his mouth, and I wince at the realisation, dragging them away.

 

"..Still haven't told me why you're here, Moran." I remind him crisply - or at least, I remind the grass, before I feel warm fingers on my chin, tilting it up and pulling my gaze back to his. 

"I want to take you on a third date." 

I blink at him for a moment, stiffening, those fingers still holding my chin and keeping my eyes on his.

"Even if I was queer," I bluster, still trying to keep my voice quietly agitated, trying to tug myself from his grasp. "Which I'm  _not_  - last night certainly wouldn't have counted as a first date, and  _this_ right now-"

 

Moran bends down and kisses me.

 

I've never kissed anyone before, and his lips are very warm, the skin dry and soft against my own. Goosebumps prickle on my skin from the cold, and my hands hover awkwardly by his sides, not sure what to do. Moran slips a hand into my hair, and kisses me again, and again, short, soft presses of his mouth to mine. I've spent so long analysing the sensation that I haven't realised that I'm kissing him back until he pulls off, pressing me back breathless against the shed.

 

"Can I take you on a date?" He asks me, his words the shyest I've heard them, that cocky smile nonexistent for a few moments.

I stare at him, numb. And then I nod, just a short, stiff bob of my head. 

 

The smile returns, toothy and relieved, exultant like a spoiled child. "Great," He says, and lifts one of my hands, kissing the back. "I'll meet you at your bakery at 7. Tomorrow night."

 

My eyes are still focused dumbly on his mouth, and before I can register what just happened, he's jogging back up the garden. 

"Sweet!" He calls, just like on the dance floor last night, and I poke my head out from behind the shed, meeting his gaze with eyes that are a little dazed. What.. what just happened?

"The name's Sebastian. Sebastian Moran."

 

\--


	4. 4

**Sebastian**

When I get home, Ma is cooking something in a pot on the stove, and she immediately attacks me with a hug for the bread and jam. I laugh, lifting her off the ground for a moment, before placing her back on her feet and closing the door behind me. I can't keep the smile from my face.  
  
"It was nothing. Got the bread free."  
  
"Oh, look at this!" She chides, batting a hand at the grass stain on Da's shirt, and I pull a face, laughing and moving to set the table for us. She tuts and moves back to her pot, Nat King Cole on the wireless. She bobs her hips to the music for a moment, before realising what I'd said and turning to look at me, wooden spoon extended in one hand.  
  
"..What do you mean, you got the bread.. free?"  
  
She narrows her eyes at me and my grin grows. I sit down at the table, and bat my hands on the mat in the rhythm of the music, before announcing fairly proudly, smug smile on my lips;  
  
"Got a date."  
  
Ma shrieks - she literally shrieks, and I laugh, ducking my head as she runs over to throw her arms around me, the spoon splattering stew onto the floor. "A date!" She says, "My boy's got a date!"  
  
I manage to pry myself from her grasp after a few moments, and she hurries back to the bubbling pot, depositing the spoon inside and turning to plant her hands on her hips. "With Jim?" She asks, wiggling her eyebrows at me, and I nod, pursing my lips against a smile.  
  
"..So he's keen?" She says excitedly, and I frown a little, wrinkling my nose.

  
"Well, I'm not sure about keen." I rub at the back of my head. "I think I.. maybe came on too strong."

"But he said yes."

"..Well.."

"He said _yes_."

I shrug, remembering Jim's stiff nod, his face utterly in shock from the kiss. I admit, I kind of wasn't expecting it myself. I grin at the memory. "Yeah, he said yes."

Ma claps her hands together. "Well then, there you go!" She hurries over to the sink, and sighs, despairing at the state of my sodden uniform. "..You'll have to wear more of Da's clothes. It'll take me days to get these dry on the line."

"Ma," I stand, and slip an arm around her shoulders. "It's fine. I'll find something." She slides a hand to my cheek again and smiles at me. A few moments pass, and then she hurries me back to the table to serve dinner, her back to me as she tips stew into bowls.

"We'll find you something. We'll find you something nice, even if I have to barter my last tokens."

"No, Ma-"

"I'll hear no more about it!" She bustles over with the bowls, and sits down opposite me. My Da's seat stays empty between us. I've set him a place without even realising it. Ma has a spoonful of stew halfway to her lips before a thought hits her.

"...Is the business bad?"

 

I frown, thinking about lying. But I don't. Why should I?

"..Yeah Ma, it's bad. But it doesn't mean that he's bad, you know? We've all done bad things."

 

"You're a good boy, Sebastian.."

I wink at her. "Yeah, Ma - so you think."

 

I don't regret kissing him. But I'm worried that he'll think I'm coming on too strong. I just wanted to prove a point. 'I'm not queer' - not only do I hate that word, but I hated how he said it. Like it was the worst thing.. But he kissed me back.

 

I resolve to apologise. I'm a gentleman, after all.

 

\--

 

Ma and I sit up together listening to the wireless until around ten, and we hear all our old favourites. I swear, I could take this life. Being home all the time, and never going back to war.  Fighting a battle for someone else; risking my life for a load of old men in a room somewhere, talking strategy. But I don't like to think about it like that. I've always done it for Ma. And maybe now.. maybe it'll be Jim.

 

I close my eyes and lean my head back on the sofa, and I can pretend that I'm dancing to the songs with him. Judy Garland, Sinatra, Reinhardt, Crosby. We'd never do that, of course. The dance hall queers? Hell, it'd be the Croydon scandal of the decade. Ma's friends would be sitting and gossiping about me on the grass outside the factory. But I can think about it all the same. I think about kissing him, too. Looking into brown eyes, those small hands on my shoulders, and mine at his waist. It makes my throat feel thick.

 

We're awoken in the early hours of the morning by a screaming air raid siren, and I leap out of bed and into Da's trousers, the shirt open over my chest and the braces hanging down by my legs as I toe on my shoes. Ma emerges in her nightgown and pulls on a fluffy robe, her hair in curlers, and we go together, Annie and her daughters joining us on the way to the closest shelter, shared with our street and another. One of Annie's daughters has a baby, and I wonder if the father is at war. Or worse - has already been lost at war. I don't ask, though. You just don't. The other keeps a blanket around Annie's shoulders as she and Ma natter, and I guide the lot of them down the stairs, beneath the concrete and into the damp dark, lit by an oil lamp. We wrap ourselves in blankets and wait out the hits. The baby wails, and so do the sirens. I wish I'd brought the wireless down. 

 

I worry about Jim. I wonder where he is, which shelter, if this is a practiced thing for him. I wonder if the Moriarty shelter is expensively furnished, with carpets and mahogany shelves. I'm itching to jump up, to let myself out, to run and check that he's alright. But that would be foolish. Ma squeezes my hand, and she and Annie go back to trying to shush the baby.

 

People talk quietly to one another, and others sleep. It must be two or three in the morning, and many are half dressed, in night gowns or odd shoes, most of the women in curlers. One man - the pastor, I think - has thought ahead, and passes out hunks of bread. Some promise to pay him back in the morning. 

 

The hits stop after around half an hour, and a while later, the siren goes off again, short and sharp. We can leave. I go out first, leading the way. It's not so bad, at least not on our street, though I can see smoke rising in the distance. I show Ma home, and then Annie and her daughters, and then a few others, who seem disoriented. At long last, I dash off in the direction of Jim's house, spotting that the Moriarty and Sons Bakery is still intact on the way. 

 

I run across town to reach the house, and when I finally come to a stop, I have to bend and rest my hands on my knees, breathing hard. The house is intact. Untouched. It's fine. He's fine. I laugh a little breathlessly to myself, feeling like an idiot. But better that than the alternative. Not knowing. 

 

"Checking up on me?" 

 

I spin, and he's standing there, dressed in a pair of trousers too big for him, a pajama shirt and holding a blanket. I smile a little sheepishly at the sight of him, and shrug, moving my hands to fasten a few buttons of my shirt, still hanging open.

"Had to make sure you weren't gonna stand me up later, sweet."

He rolls his eyes. "Would be fairly inconvenient, being dead."

Well, I think, at least he's not protesting about being 'queer' any more. I take a step closer to him, but he shakes his head. Behind him, I hear a shout of 'Craig!' and realise that his brothers must be nearby, or maybe his whole family. 

"..Later, then.." I say, and let my gaze drop to his mouth again. He looks away, but his cheeks are pink, and he's trying not to smile in return. That's something, isn't it?

"Seven PM." He says. "At the bakery."

I nod, and hover, wanting to do something else.. To kiss him again, or to tell him that I was thinking about him in the shelter. But the voices grow nearby, and he turns away, running back to them.  I watch him go, and then take off back home.

 

Ma puts on the wireless for another half hour to help us sleep after all the excitement. Vera Lynn sings us off, and I grin into my pillow as I float into unconsciousness. Somewhere in the town, the unluckiest souls are rifling through the rubble of their homes.

 

 I feel lucky.

 

\--


	5. 5

**Jim**

"Jim! For God's sake, will you fucking concentrate?"

My cheeks burn at Craig's chide, and I scowl at him, pushing myself away from the wall. We're in an old warehouse a couple of miles from town, and for once, Father isn't here. Craig is twenty six - the eldest - and is watching over Tommy's kill, though I don't see why I had to get dragged along too. I very rarely like working in the bakery, but today would have been an exception. If Sebastian came in yesterday, there's no reason why he couldn't come in today, even if our date isn't til seven.

I feel a pang of something in my stomach at the thought. A date. I'm going on a date with a soldier. Pretty sure this isn't what Father meant about finding myself a wife, but I've kissed him now, so that's that, isn't it? I run my fingers over my lips, giddy at the memory. If I even did kiss him.. I've thought about it so much that it kind of blurs in my mind, and I'm worried that I stood there, stiff as a board. 

 

Tommy straightens, turning a knife between his fingers, and leans against the wall to catch his breath. The man on the floor is duct taped mute, but he gargles something ineligible, and Craig kicks him in the side, his teeth bared. He's always angry. We all pretend that we don't know that he beats his wife, Jean. I'm just glad she hasn't given him any kids yet.

  
"Kid, you pay that guy back his shilling?" Tommy asks me, and it takes me a few moments to understand what he means - partly because I'm still thinking about that kiss, and partly because I forget that it was Sebastian's excuse to come and find me. Tommy blinks at me, looking at me like I'm an idiot, bloodied to the elbows.

 

"Oh. Oh, yeah."

"You borrowing money?" Craig asks, rounding on me, his grimace identical to my father's. "We don't borrow money from no one." He gives me a shove to the shoulder, and I frown, not backing away from him. The youngest doesn't have to mean the weakest.  I shrug.

"Who you borrowing money from?" Craig demands, and pushes me again, leaving a bloodied smear on my shirt. 

"Get the fuck off me, meathead." I spit, and he throws a punch. I duck, and he scrapes his knuckles on the brickwork, turning with a roar to try and pummel me, but Tommy steps between us.

"We gonna get this job done or what?" He asks, raising his voice, and pushing me hard. Craig spits on the floor at my feet, and points a finger at me.

"You don't borrow no money again, you hear me? We ain't beggars."

I give a mock salute and shoot him a withering look, and Tommy rolls his eyes. He picks up his knife again, and walks back to the body. A few moments pass in silence.

"Jim." Craig says at last, voice a gruffer bark than before, but the altercation is already all but forgotten. I still bubble with indignant rage, arms clamped around my chest. 

"What?" I mutter, and Craig points at Tommy.

 

"How should he kill him?"  It's not an actual request to help, but a test question. He'll report on my progress back to Father, even if this is Tommy's session. I'm about to shrug, to turn and stalk off, but it won't help anything. Craig'll only come after me, or tell the old man that I'm fucking up. And I don't need any more fuck ups. Especially not.. with tonight. 

 

I agreed to go on a date. With a soldier. 

 

If I agreed, does that mean I'm queer? Or am I queer because I liked the way his shirt hung open over his chest, his stomach muscled and dust-streaked from his shelter in the early hours of this morning? Or because I  _think_  I kissed him back?

 

Or because I don't want a wife and kids?

 

I'm lost in my thoughts again, and Craig slaps me hard on the back of the head, sending me reeling forwards.

"I don't know!" I snap, "Cut off his tongue and stuff it down his throat."

"Wrong." Tommy says, and tosses up his knife, catching it again and holding it to the man's neck, tilting his head back. The man wails panickedly behind the duct tape, arms and legs bound. "You get too much blood that way. You know how hard it is to clean away blood without the others here? What if you were alone?"

Craig saunters around to our brother, and ruffles his hair, though Tommy elbows him and swears. 

"Good." Craig says. "..And so..?"

"So we.." He drops the knife, and takes the man's neck into his arms, gritting his teeth as he bends down and twists hard. The fracturing crack finishes his sentence for him, and I keep my eyes on the man as he slumps, purposely emotionless. Father used to watch us after each kill - watch for every flinch or wince, every flicker of compassion. Punish them. It's gone, now. I don't feel for these men.

 

But I do feel for one man. It terrifies me.

 

-

 

I don't think it's so much that he's attractive, I think, as I button my waistcoat. I'm getting ready in my bedroom, and I'm wearing my very best, though my fingers fumble on the buttons, and it takes me an embarrassingly long time. I've told my mother and father that I have a date with a girl called Maureen, and both seemed pleased. Father guffawed and slapped me on the back, and mother just gave a half smile, before turning back to her brandy. Jack keeps carrying the wireless past my room when a love song comes on, though he's going to get a beating soon if he keeps on. I can hear Tommy yelling at him to turn the damn thing off.

 

No, I don't think it's so much that Sebastian is attractive - though, I know that he is. I accept the knowledge rather calmly, I think, and take a sip of my banana milkshake. The cook brought it to me with a wink, and asked if I wanted another for my date. I gave her a scathing 'no', but I might change my mind. Maybe he'll think I'm fantastic. Bananas aren't supposed to be here, after all.

 

No - I know he's attractive. Doesn't take a genius to realise that every unspoken for girl in that dance hall was eyeing him. But there's something about him. He knows that my family are killers, and yet he compares them to himself. He's a soldier for Christ's sake - isn't he supposed to think that he's the dog's bollocks? King and Country, and all that? And yet.. 

 

I put on my suit jacket and run my hands along the fabric, before straightening my hair with my fingers. The fabric is navy blue, the waistcoat expensively embroidered. All four Moriarty boys have a few suits like this apiece, but the others hate wearing them. I adore it. Always have.

 

Fucking hell - I'm as gay as a May pole.

 

I turn away from the mirror with a frown, and look out of the window, remembering Sebastian standing by my driveway early this morning, half dressed and panting. I wonder where he lives. Across town, no doubt. To think that he'd run all that way to see me, that he'd been.. worried about me.. I fiddle with the handkerchief in my pocket, and bite back a smile. It fades soon enough, when my father walks across the gravel, a rag in his hand for polishing the car.

 

He'll never accept this, whatever it is. 

 

But it's a thought for another time. Who knows, perhaps the date will go off terribly. Perhaps I'll come to the conclusion that in fact, I'm not queer, or that Sebastian Moran is an utter tool. Part of me hopes so.

 

It's ten to seven. I straighten my jacket and head out, down the stairs and through the door, over the gravel. Father winks at me, and runs a hand through his slicked grey hair, and I give a short smile. Look at him, all proud. I'd probably already be black and blue if he knew where I was really going.

 

I hurry down the lane, towards the bakery.

 


	6. 6

**Sebastian**

I wait by the bakery and try not to tap my foot in agitation, too nervous to stand still. The night is a fine one - it's nearing summer and still light out, though the setting sun is painting the sky a dusky orange. Gnats hover in the air around the street lamps, and it's eerie on the street this late - everything is closed, shutters down and the streets empty. No cars roll past, and the lamps flicker, my shadow stretching out behind me. 

 

I'm holding a bunch of coneflowers, from Ma's garden. We don't have much of a garden, but she loves her flowers. Tends to them on her days off from the factory. I didn't want to take them, but she'd already cut a few and wrapped them in a sheath of baking parchment, fastened with tape. Said that they'd only blacken from the soot, and wilt and die otherwise. I rolled my eyes at her and laughed. Ma has a way with words.

 

She helped me find some more of Da's old things, and if I do say so myself, I don't look too bad. Brown trousers this time, with black braces, and the shirt isn't starched stiff like the rest. It's softer, more a beige than a white, and it matches the brown trousers. I add his old black suit jacket over the top, with my black shoes, and the job's a good one. Ma smooths over my hair, and presses the flowers into my hands, and practically pushes me out of the door when I stall, nerves turning over in my stomach.

 

I reach the bakery early, and let myself fret for ten minutes that he isn't coming. That he isn't 'queer' after all, and that I've played it wrong. Come on too strong. I lean against the street lamp, crinkling the baking parchment with my grasp and looking at the sky - when I see him. He comes walking around the corner with one hand on the buttons of his jacket, and the other hovering between his trouser and jacket pockets, seemingly not sure what to do with them. And - damn.. He looks a million pounds.

 

His suit is the kind of expensive, fitted material that I'd never be able to buy, not with five paychecks. But I don't care about it. It looks great, don't get me wrong, but.. I'm looking at his eyes. At the faint blush on his cheeks, and that shy smile that seems to get more prominent the closer he gets. At the tendril of hair that breaks free, and is hurriedly slicked back into place. I step forward and swallow, a daft grin beginning on my lips.

"Evening." I say, and he nods. That smile fades into a kind of amused bemusement as he looks down at what I'm carrying - at both of the things I'm carrying, and I thrust the flowers at him, watching him raise his eyebrows in surprise.

"..They're for me?"

My cheeks feel warm. "..My Ma insisted." I say, and run a hand over the back of my head. "If you don't like 'em-"

"No, no. They're.. charming."

The paper crinkles as he looks them over for a moment, and then tucks them beneath an arm, then looking down at the second thing that I'm carrying. The wireless. Ma said that I could take it just for the evening, though I wasn't keen on leaving her with nothing to do. She batted me on the arm, and told me that she was just fine to read her papers.

"You brought a wireless?" Jim asks, hint of a smile on his lips, and I nod.

"Sure did, sweet." I say, and cock my head towards the road. "Shall we make a move?"

  
He purses his lips, but he looks pleased, and we begin to walk side by side over the road, heading towards the common. There'll be no one out there at this time. One thing I realised after asking him - not many places you can take your beau on a date if your beau wears a suit, too. If you know what I mean.

 

"You..look good." He says after a moment, stealing a glance at me as we walk. I grin again, and look over at him, his words so quiet that I could have missed them.

"Well thank you. Don't look too bad yourself." I think for a moment, and then backtrack, a touch more quietly. "..You look.. damn fantastic, in fact."

I watch him as his eyes find the grass and his cheeks grow pink, but there's a tight little smile on his lips that I like. I'm glad that I put it there. 

 

I clear my throat. "Glad you weren't put off by the sight of me this morning."

  
Jim laughs, and we come to a stop on the grass, behind the curve of a crumbling wall that used to be a groundkeeper's place, before this park was half-eaten by new housing. God damn it, I haven't even bought a blanket for him to sit on.

"Or you, me." He adds, and I roll my eyes, hurriedly tugging off Da's jacket and laying it down on the grass for him. 

"Not possible." I reply with a wink, and he frowns at the jacket on the grass, apprehensive. "Don't want your folks to get suspicious at the grass stains, sweet." I say, and he concedes, sitting down. 

  
"Where's your shelter?" He asks me, and I glance back in the direction of the house as I sit down beside him, propping my arms on my bent knees. 

"Corland Road Shelter. Communal."

"So you were nowhere near, this morning."

He raises his eyebrows, and I shrug, my smile turning a touch shy. "..Told you. Wanted to make sure you weren't standing me up."

 

We sit there for a few long minutes, and neither of us say anything. I wouldn't say that it's awkward - it's more of a comfortable silence, the air thick with our thoughts, and he runs his fingers along the baking parchment of his bouquet. Watching him, I notice that his eyelashes are long enough to brush his cheeks, and that he's got the clearest skin of any boy I've seen. My eyes wander to his mouth and looks up at me rather abruptly after a moment. I'm caught staring. A slow smile begins on my lips, and he just laughs at me, quiet and tinkling.

 

"..Hey.." He says after a moment. I raise my eyebrows at him, and lean back, my legs outstretched as I rest my weight on my hands. "..I've been thinking about what you said, yesterday."

My mind goes blank, and I can't remember what I said yesterday. The kiss floats in my mind, the centre of our encounter, and everything else seems to flit around it, meaningless. I turn on the wireless, and Doris Day's 'We'll Be Together Again' joins the quiet night air with us.  "..Oh yeah?"

He smiles at the music, but then looks uneasy for a moment, and leans a little closer to me. His words are uncertain. "You really.. don't mind it? The.. business?"

 

"..Should I mind it?"

Jim rips up a handful of grass, and my eyes settle on his fingers for a moment.

"..I don't know," He says. "Most people would. And you seem like a.. good person."

"I told you, sweet. I'm no hypocrite."

 

He gives me an odd look, and sprinkles the grass from his fingertips. "..But it's _murder_."

 

"..Yeah?" I smile again, but it's a little smaller this time, and I reach over to shove him in the shoulder. "And murderer is just a fancy name for 'soldier'." He pushes me back, and I laugh and lay down in the grass. After a few hesitant moments, he joins me. I wish my jacket was bigger, to save his fancy clothes. "If you'd gone to war," I continue, "Bet you'd have killed as many people."

He sighs. "No, I think it's different." He goes quiet for a long few moments, and Doris sings on.

"Do you feel bad about it?" I ask, the words simple as I turn to look at him. He stares back at me a little reluctantly, and after a few seconds, shakes his head.

"..And do you give the orders?" I say, and he shakes his head again. I turn back to look up into the sky, dusk having faded into a darkening navy blanket, stars dotted across. "..Then it's the same."

Jim sighs, but he's smiling, and he follows my gaze to the sky. "..You're very strange." He informs me, and I tap my foot to the slow, lulling melody of Doris' voice. I don't deny it. 

"And yet here you are, sweet." 

 

He doesn't say anything, but I imagine that he's rolling his eyes. A few minutes pass, and the song changes, Mel Torme's 'Where Or When'. I slide my fingers across the grass, and find his. He closes them around mine, and the feeling is like nothing else. I sneak a glance at him, and he's looking straight up at the sky, but a shy smile plays on his lips. My heart skitters, and I look back at the stars. 

 

I'm considering asking him whether he's changed his mind about that wife, before he asks me rather suddenly;

  
"Do you like banana milkshake?"

 

I look over at him, and raise an eyebrow, before laughing quietly. "..I.. don't know." I admit. "I don't think I've ever tried banana milkshake. You won't find any bananas near here, love." 

 

I squeeze his fingers, and his words seem to falter for a moment, though he swallows and goes on. I love it. That pink blush on his cheeks. 

"..I have bananas. At my house. My father can import them from his clients."

"..Wow." I process that for a moment. Must be big business. "He.. a nice man, your Da?"

 

Jim turns onto his stomach, and looks over at me pointedly. My smile grows steadily, and I laugh. "..What?"

"Look at what we do for a living. Do you  _think_  he sounds like a nice man?"

" _You're_  a nice man."

 

Jim snorts, and rests his face on his arms in the grass, turning over. He's released my hand, but his fingers tap rhythmically to the music, and I press my own to them, turning onto my stomach too. 

 

"You like the song?" I ask, and he nods, eyes finding the wireless. 

"I've never heard this one before."

My eyebrows shoot up, and I half sit up. "You're joking."

"..What?"

"Glenn Miller. Moonlight Serenade? It's brilliant. Jesus, if this hasn't been a thousand wedding songs.."

 

He just looks at me, amusement written across his features. ".. _Strange_." He says firmly, grinning at me. "Told you."

"Yeah alright, banana milkshake. Get up." I climb to my feet, brushing off my trousers, and Jim turns onto his side, bemused.

"Why?"

I hold out my hand.  "..We didn't get to dance on our first date, sweet. And  _Glenn Miller_."

 

He looks at me like I'm mad for a few moments, but I flutter my fingers at him, and he laughs, scrambling to take it. I pull him to his feet and then against me, sliding an arm around his waist. His adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and the corner of my mouth quirks when he puts his hands on my shoulders.

 

We begin to sway in time with the music on the grass. I don't think I could have asked for anything more perfect. It's not raining, and there's no air raid. Yet. No muddy trenches, either. No itchy khakis. For once, it's all just fine. Just the way it's supposed to be. Jim's eyes find mine, and I grin, taking one of his hands and twirling him under my arm, though he grimaces at me and laughs. I couldn't have picked a better song, either. I tighten my hold on that hand and his waist, and begin to dip and weave us, sidestepping over the grass with an exaggerated slowness that has us both chuckling.

 

By the time the announcer comes back on, I'm grinning, and Jim is slipping both hands to my cheeks and kissing me of his own volition. I don't know what to do for a second or two, and then my hands settle at his waist, enjoying the warmth of his mouth against mine beneath the stars. When he breaks away, his eyes are wide and dark, his lips moist. He looks back at me, and a shy smile cracks over his mouth, his hands still on my cheeks.

"..I think, I might be queer.." He muses after a moment, and I laugh quietly, biting on my bottom lip before nodding.

"You don't say?" I ruffle his hair with a flat hand, and he pushes me off, smiling sheepishly. "Evening, Queer. I'm 'Strange'."

 

\--

 

We spend the next couple of hours dancing together to the wireless, in the way that we could never dance in the hall. Jim stays close, and I slide my arm around his back to keep him there. We sway together, or we laugh as we try the fast steps to Charlie Parker's 'Flat Foot Boogie' or Sidney Bechet's 'One O Clock Jump'. We fall about laughing at 'I've Got A Lovely Bunch Of Coconuts', both of us trying to do the voices, and my eyes are wet, I'm laughing that hard.

 

I kiss him again when he's on his back in the grass, and he pulls me closer, his fingers curling around my braces. We're both still breathless from the dancing, from the laughing, and hell - I've never felt this way. I could stay here forever.

"I could stay here forever." Jim whispers, mirroring my thoughts, and I grin, kissing him again.

"Calm down, sweet. It's only our third date." 

 

He says he hasn't got a curfew, but I figure it's best to keep his Father from getting suspicious. I walk him back to the bakery, our hands swinging between us, at five minutes to ten PM. He looks down at the flowers in his hand, the baking parchment torn on one side, and I know that he's thinking that he can't keep them. No girl would give him flowers. But I don't want to take them back to Ma. In the end, we lay them at the Church doors, by the chained donations tin for the soldiers relief. War is tough, but those relief vans really help, you know? I hope the coneflowers give someone a little comfort.

 

Despite trying to stall, we reach the bakery at long last, and I reach down to straighten Jim's tie, and smooth my hands over his lapels.   
"..You're covered in grass stains." I say resignedly, though I'm grinning when he shrugs. "Your brothers'll think you got a lay."

He raises his eyebrows in mock shock, and bats at my chest, though he leaves his hands there, twining into my braces.

"Have to buy me dinner first, soldier." He murmurs, and I laugh, about to retort when he kisses me again. It lasts for a few seconds, but I push him back at last, wary of where we are. 

"..When can I see you again?" I ask, and run my fingers down his cheek. He shakes his head.

"..Whenever you want." The words are small,  admitting to something. I tilt my head at him, and he smiles. I wish I could give him a day - a time, anything concrete. But this'll have to work on his terms. I'll just have to ask.

"..Come to dinner?" I say, at last. "Tomorrow, at my house. My Ma would love to meet you. If you.."

I'm suddenly worried that I'm going too fast, and he frowns, looking uncomfortable for a moment. I realise why.

"She knows." I assure him quietly. Surprise flits across his face, and I give a wry smile. "I know. One of a kind, my Ma."

 

He thinks for a moment and then nods, a coy smile on his lips. "Okay." He says. "Dinner, tomorrow."

"Five PM. 86 Corland Road."

"Five PM." He repeats, and straightens to kiss me again. He lingers for a moment, before turning, and hurrying off down the street. I watch him, still with a daft smile on my face as I clutch the wireless to my chest. He glances back, and we both laugh.

 

I've never felt this way.

 

\--

 


	7. 7

**JIM**

I wake up the next day and just lay there for a few long minutes, thinking over the night before. I'm smiling at the ceiling, and my heart flutters in my chest, hardly able to believe that it wasn't a dream. I'm not a man that prides himself on being wrong, but I'll admit it.. I was wrong. I decidedly don't like the word 'queer' anymore, but.. if it's what I am.. 

 

Three days. Three meetings. And that's all it took him to make me fall, arse over tit for him. Sebastian Moran. I know his taste, now.. I know what it feels like to be held by him and kissed, or to sway together to one of the songs that he seems to love so much. I've never laughed as much as I did last night, either, the pair of us falling onto the grass when that ridiculous tune came on. 

 

Only my mother was up when I got home last night, and she poured me a brandy. I sat with her for a while, but I didn't say a word. She was smiling at me all the same. I suppose she'll tell father that it went well. My 'date'. 

 

I can hear the raucous sounds of breakfast downstairs, so I finally get up and dressed. I even look different in the mirror, like there's a shadow of a smile on my lips. Like my eyes are brighter. I'm going fucking mad, I think. I eye my suit, still covered in grass stains from last night, and then walk over to hide it under my bed. I wonder for a moment what to wear to his house this evening.. Nothing too showy, maybe. And I should take something for his mother, to thank her for cooking. And for the flowers last night. I wonder if they're still by the Church doors.

 

I head down into the kitchen, and only Tommy sits at the table, scooping out the remains of a boiled egg and leaning back in his chair. Craig has his own house with Jean a few doors down, but he's here, because his shoes are by the door. Probably sitting with mother in the back room. Father leans by the kitchen counter with a mug of tea in his hand, though he's got the front door open, and is speaking to someone on the doorstep. I figure that it's a client, or maybe the milkman, and sit down, helping myself to a piece of toast. The cook sets a plate down in front of me and then hurries away again.

 

"Oh yes! We're looking forward to it. Yeah - see her in a couple of hours, then pet." 

 

My father's voice booms out, hearty and authoritative, and he closes the door, a woman with a long coat and a flapping apron walking back across the gravel. I watch her out of the window, and look at my father questioningly when he turns back to us, his expression exultant.

 

"That was Maureen's mother." He informs me. "We're having her over for lunch." He pauses for a moment, and I grow perfectly still, a cold feeling settling in my stomach. My toast drops back onto my plate. 

"..What?" I say, and father frowns at me. Tommy snorts, and tosses a piece of egg shell at me. 

"You deaf? 'e said your girl's coming for lunch."

"..I.." I'm not sure what my face looks like right now, but I know that there's an uneasy tightness in my chest. Father takes a long slurp of his tea, and then laughs, booming again.

"She didn't even know her daughter had been out last night." He says, raising his eyebrows at me with a conspiratorial smile. "You two been meeting on the quiet, lad?"

"..How did you find her?" I ask meekly after a moment, my words still numb, and begin tearing the crust from my toast, my eyes on my plate.

"Don't take it too hard." My father says, and slaps a hand on my shoulder. "Your mother and I thought it was about time that we met her, is all."

"We've only been on two dates." I mutter, and toss the toast down again. Tommy laughs under his breath, and flicks another piece of shell at me.  "..Didn't even tell you her last name."  ..Because I don't know it. We danced for less than ten minutes, and all of it was to impress Sebastian, laughing at me from behind the punch table. I feel a flicker of something warm at the thought, but it immediately drips into dread when my father continues.

"Only two Maureens your age in town." He explains like it's the most obvious thing in the word, and slurps his tea again. "Just had to ask which one knew you. Sent Tommy round this morning, and sure enough, her mother came back with him." He winks. "So I asked her daughter over for lunch."

This is a nightmare. A bloody nightmare.

 

"Jack's gonna take on your kill today." Tommy says and then kicks me under the table when I don't reply, looking around for support from father. "Er - you're  _welcome._ "

 

"Thanks." I say, but the word is scathing. I excuse myself from the table, and stalk off back to my room.

 

 

**SEBASTIAN**

 

Ma wakes me up at half past eight, which is later than I've slept for a while. She practically leaps on me, already dressed in her factory uniform and demanding to know the full story.

"Did he like the flowers?" She asks as I hide my face under the pillow laughing, still aglow from last night. "He didn't mind the baking paper? I should have used the tissue paper from Da's old boxes! I didn't even  _think_ -"

"Ma," I say, and sit up, tilting my head at her. "Relax. He loved them. It was great. It went.. pretty damned well, I think."

She claps her hands for a moment, and then leans in, raising her eyebrows, voice low and amused. "..Did you kiss him?"

" _Ma_." I say, and give her a pointed look. "My business."

"You kissed him!" She squeals, and I clap a hand to my eyes, cringing and laughing at the same time. She dashes from the room, and the wireless volume is suddenly cranked up to max, and from my room I can hear 'A Little Bird Told Me' by Evelyn Knight and The Stardusters. It seems apt, somehow. 

 

I'm grinning as I climb out of bed and tug on a pair of trousers, walking into the kitchen to find her bobbing around, happy as she whisks eggs. I sit down at the table and start tapping my hands on the table.

"Oh - Ma.." I say, remembering, and she lays toast on my plate, before turning back to tip the whisked eggs into a pan.

"Mm?"

"..I might have invited him for dinner tonight."

Eggs splash onto the stove in her shock, with a fizzling hiss. "You  _what?_!" She shrieks, and I'm laughing again, holding up my hands in mock surrender.

 

\--

 

Straight after breakfast, she's sending me off to buy the food for the dinner. She piles ration tokens and coins into my hands, though I refuse to take them, putting them back on the counter when she leaves for the factory. I watch her join Annie at the gate, and wave her off, promising to get the finest meat that I can. I'll use my own paycheck. She's excited though - it's funny. She was fretting all the way through our scrambled eggs about what to wear.

 

I'm wearing my khaki's again, the sun from yesterday and this early morning having dried the trousers at least. I wear them with one of my old vests, with my dogtags over the top. It's mild enough to go without a jacket, and I'm only going to a few shops. One of Annie's daughters whistles at me from the garden and I laugh and wink at her, waggling my fingers at the baby in his mother's arms.

 

I think about Jim as I walk, and I feel a kind of warmth in my stomach. Did he think about me this morning? Did he get home safe, and without suspicion? I'd have liked to walk him to his gate, really. I wonder what he had for breakfast this morning, and what he's doing today. More murder, maybe. I wonder if he's right, and if it should bother me more. But I mean what I say. I've killed a lot of men, without reasons that were my own. And for money too, if you think about it.

 

We're two and the same.

 

I reach the butcher's shop, and stand outside, looking through the window at the meat displays, and wondering what Jim likes. Plenty of lamb about this time of year.. Everyone loves lamb, right? I know Ma will be worried about giving him the kind of good food that he's accustomed to. I'm about to head inside, when I hear my name.

"Seb."

I glance back, and it's Jack Moriarty, Jim's brother from the bakery. I wonder if he's working in there today - makes sense, cause it's only a few shops down. I nod in greeting, and then turn back to the window, thinking that he'll just walk on. But he doesn't. His hands fist in the back of my vest, and he half drags, half pushes me to the side of the shop, into the mess alley. I tear myself from his grasp and look at him warily, his expression concerning me. My thoughts about meat are forgotten as I take him in, his eyes as wide and dark as Jim's, though he's older and with a bigger build, not quite as tall as me. 

"What's wrong, Jack?" I ask him calmly, fingers curling into fists by my sides. This isn't a friendly encounter, and unease begins in my stomach. 

"..Fuckin'  _queer._ " 

 

He spits the words at me, looking me up and down with a venomous expression. My heart is in my mouth, and I recoil at the name. I'm not scared of him in the slightest, but I don't know what those words mean. What this means. Is Jim alright? Is he in trouble? Does his father know? How does Jack..?

 

"..What'd you call me?" I say, taking a step closer and squaring my shoulders. You have to fight fire with fire, this sort of thing. I hold his gaze, and he grimaces at me, gritting his teeth.

"I saw you." He hisses, and I tense. "My brother was goin' on a date. And I saw him meet  _you_  at the shop. And you gave him a bunch o' fuckin' flowers."

 

That's all he saw? I think, a little relieved. But of course, that's incriminating enough. And I'm not sure I can explain it away.

"What?" I say, half smile on my lips. "You don't like flowers, Jack?"

 

He steps forward and pushes me hard in the chest, but I only stagger back a half-step, holding my ground.   
"He ain't what you think." He spits, grimacing at me like it pains him to look at me. Like I disgust him. "He ain't  _that way_."

I shrug, feigning disinterest. "Don't know what you mean."

"You better keep away from him.  _Queer._ "

I raise an eyebrow at him. "We're just friends." I say, though I fold my arms over my chest. "And you don't give me orders, Jack."

"I'm tryna help you here, Seb." He says, though he's still looking at me like I'm something on his fucking shoe, words a warning tone.

 

I laugh. "..Right." I say slowly. "Well. You've got it all wrong." I shrug, like none of it matters. But I'm worried for Jim. 

"You stay away from him, I'll keep it to myself." Jack says, though he's squaring up to me, and I tilt my chin, emphasising our height difference. Maybe that's why he won't hit me. He knows I'll put him on his back. 

 

Or maybe he's worried I'll infect him with 'queer'.

 

"..And if I don't?"

 

Jack raises his eyebrows at my audacity, though he recovers his composure quickly, and draws a knife from his belt, turning it between his fingers. I lose my bravado a little at that, and lean back, wary. I don't want that kind of trouble.

"..Jack-"

"Then I tell Craig. And my Father. I'll tell 'em all. They'll kill the both of you's."

I frown, eyeing that blade. He slips it away, and turns, walking from the alley, calling back to me. 

 

"..And we don' make threats lightly around 'ere."

 

\--

 

  
**JIM**

Maureen arrives at 12pm sharp for lunch, and my mother and father are already sitting at the table, an elaborate array of sandwiches, scones, jams and clotted cream in front of them. Fruit too, and eccles cakes. Things that we most definitely shouldn't have in war time, and my mother pretends that she's made it all, rather than the cook. Mother sits upright in her best dress, with a teacup and saucer, though it doesn't take a genius to work out that her 'tea' is actually brandy. 

 

Craig and Tommy have gone out to find Jack, and presumably take over the day's kill, which was supposed to be mine. A money laundering carpenter. I think I'd rather have been there, ripping pieces from him, than here. I sit down stiffly in my seat as father shows Maureen inside, dressed in another of my best suits and looking far too fucking grand for a lunch. Maureen's red hair is piled high on her head, and she wears red lipstick, and a pale yellow dress with a belt and white cardigan. My mother looks her up and down and smiles, and I have to stand and kiss her on the cheek. She slides an arm around my waist and hugs me, before we sit down.

"Thank you so much for having me." Is the first thing she says, and I wince. Her voice is too loud for our sitting room. She doesn't belong here. I don't want her here. I smile stiffly and reach for a sandwich, just forcing myself to compile a list inside my mind - things that I can tell Sebastian later, things that will make him laugh.

 

She's here for a couple of hours, and Father does most of the talking. Mother merely sits, smiling sanguinely and sipping at her brandy. Where are you from, Maureen? Oh, around here? Croydon, born and bred! I hear you're keen on our Jim? Would you like a sandwich? What does your Mother do? Is your Father away at war? Oh, terrible business, isn't it?

 

It goes on, and on and on. To her credit, Maureen answers everything enthusiastically, but her loud voice is already giving me a headache. Her hand slides to clutch at mine underneath the table and I let her, because I don't want to pull it away. I'm not sure I have the energy to pull it away. I just don't care - I don't have a single interest in this conversation, in Maureen, in marriage..

 

I'm drifting off, thinking about what I'm going to wear to Sebastian's house. How we're going to laugh at the garish lipstick that Maureen wears, at the droop of my mother's eyes as she threatens to fall asleep right there at the table in her posh fucking dress..

"So this is your third date." My father says at last, the plates in front of us empty. I blink myself back into the conversation and Maureen pouts, turning to look at me bemusedly. I flex my fingers in her clammy grasp. Fuck.

  
"Third?" She says slowly, and my father guffaws, giving us both a conspiratorial wink.

"Ah - say no more, say no more." He says, grinning. "I remember what it was like to be young. You leave it with me young lady, I won't tell a soul." 

 

Maureen looks at me again, and I give a tight smile, more a grimace than anything else. I'm half decided on my grey suit, for this evening. I wonder if I'll have time to go to the florist, to get flowers for Sebastian's mother..

 

"Well, I should get home!" Maureen announces at last, and I flinch again at the sound of her voice, ringing in my ears. She stands up, and my father glares at me until I stand up too, and then he and my mother are embracing her, kissing her on each cheek, telling her that she must come again. Jesus, I think. They must really want me to have a wife - they're never in the same room together, never mind acting the perfect parents.

 

They leave me to walk Maureen home, and I'm glad that she only lives a street away. God forbid Sebastian see me with her before I've had a chance to tell him about the whole tedious set up. I hope he understands. He has to know that it isn't real. I can't stand her, for God's sake. 

 

I'm quiet as we walk, though Maureen talks incessantly, her hand clamped around mine, sweaty as she swings them between us. II tune out of whatever she's saying, internally worrying that Sebastian won't understand, won't want me holding her hand, or walking her home, or bringing her for tea. 

 

I wonder when it was that I started caring about the opinion of one soldier, but I do. I do care. Far more than I'd like to admit.

 

We reach Maureen's front gate, and she pulls me in by my shoulders and kisses me, her mouth awkward and warm and tasting of whatever lipstick she's wearing. I imagine that it's now smeared over my lips, too. I pull away after a moment with a tight smile and a short "..Bye..", leaving the word hanging in the air as I turn and hurry home, my stomach turning. I almost walk right into Jack, who's just coming out of the front door.

"He says you 'ad a date." He says, though his expression is a little stern. I frown at him.

"..Yeah?" I say slowly, and shrug. "Maureen." My throat feels thick, but I clear it, and continue. "..I think we're courting."

Jack's eyes flit down to the red lipstick smeared over my mouth, and a smile cracks over his own. He walks over, and slaps me on the back, before ruffling my hair with a hand.

 

"Well, thank fuck for that." He breathes, and then laughs. I don't get the joke.

 

\--

 


	8. 8

**SEBASTIAN**  
  
Five O clock comes around fast, and I don't think Ma's sat down for a second since she got home. She's still wearing her factory pinafore, dashing around to clean, dusting and sweeping, hoovering the carpets with the push-a-long. A pot of potatoes boils on the stove, with peas and carrots in another, and lamb in a tin in the oven. I went back and bought it after my altercation with Jack. It was an act of defiance, I know. And maybe if I was smarter, I'd call this whole thing off now. Before I get hurt. Physically, hurt.

 

But you know what? Let them come at me. 

 

We'll have to be more careful, for Jim. I can't have him hurt, as much as I'm willing to stand in the crossfire myself. But then I'm reckless like that. I'm at war, after all. And I only have a week of leave left.. I can't think about that right now.

 

The wireless fills the kitchen with music, and the thin curtains blow inside, no doubt wafting the smell of the roast out to all the neighbours. I haven't let Ma pay for a penny of the food, though she batted at me with her hands when she realised that I'd left the ration tokens on the side.

 

Joe Loss' 'Hey Little Hen' plays, and I stand in front of the mirror again, trying to make my hair stay flat. 

"Are you ready, Ma?" I call, and I hear her squawk a curse as she looks at the time, before hurrying off into the bedroom to get changed, the slamming door rattling on its hinges. I laugh quietly, and walk around, straightening the sofa cushions and smoothing down my trousers nervously. I'm wearing black trousers, and the shirt from the date, with an old cardigan of my Da's that he used to wear a lot. Don't much like cardigans on men myself, but I figured I'd give it a try. I don't look half bad. 

 

I'm still trying to decide whether or not to tell Jim about his brother, when the doorbell rings, and Ma dashes out, dressed in her Sunday best with her hair curled. I don't know how she does it. She hurries past me and turns the wireless down to a quiet croon, straightening her dress before she opens the door for him with a fond ".. _Jim_ ," as if she's known him for an age.

 

I stand, feeling a little shy, embarrassed of where I live, so small and quaint compared to his damned mansion. Jim's eyes find me straight away, before they flit to Ma, and he smiles at her in return, his cheeks burning pink. I wonder if he's remembering what she knows. He hands her a bouquet of flowers and she gasps, clapping a hand to her chest. Well, I have to admit, it's a pretty impressive array of freesias - tied with white ribbon and wrapped in crisp, patterned paper. I feel a little daft when I think back to the baking parchment wrapped around the coneflowers from the garden.

 

"For my flowers the other day." He says, stepping inside, and closing the door behind him. "They were beautiful. Thank you."

"Well you certainly didn't have to go to all this trouble!" Ma says, and lays the flowers on the table, before pulling a rather startled Jim into a hug. I wince at the sight, but bite back a laugh, watching as his shock fades to amusement after a moment, and he hugs her back. Ma sniffs, and wafts at her eyes, before bustling over to the counter to cut and vase the flowers. 

"Dinner will be just a minute!" She says, "You boys sit on down at the table."

We both sit down in front of a place mat, and Jim looks around himself at our kitchen, before his eyes settle on me. 

"Hello again." He says, his words amused, and I grin in return, a little relieved that he doesn't look disgusted or out of place here.

"Hello, sweet."

He slides his hand into mine beneath the table, and leans in to say quietly; "I have something to tell you."  Ma has her back to us, slotting each of the freesias into an old glass vase on the windowsill, and I squeeze Jim's hand, raising an eyebrow. I have something to tell him, too. But I don't want to. What if he doesn't want to see me anymore? What if Jack's already told him, and that's what he's going to say?

 

He must see something in my expression, because he tilts his head at me and squeezes my hand, amusement on his face.

"Are you alright?"

I blink myself out of my reverie, and laugh quietly, before giving a nod. "Fine, yeah. Fine, fine. You like lamb, right sweet?"

"I love lamb." Jim agrees, a little more loudly, and Ma turns, clapping her hands together.

"Oh, good! We've got enough lamb to feed a family of ten. We'll be having lamb sarnies for a week." She looks pointedly at me and I shrug, grinning. Better lamb sarnies than no food at all, if I'd taken her ration tokens. 

"You bought it?" Jim asks, and I nod, pushing back the sleeves of my cardigan.

"Got to spend that army wage on something, haven't I?"

"Oh, you shouldn't-"

Ma flaps her hands at us, glancing back as she drains the vegetables, and dunks them onto the plate with the steaming potatoes. "It's no bother! My boy should have the best. And my boy's boy." She looks back, eyes twinkling, and both Jim and I look away, sheepish and pink-cheeked. Ma gives a hoot of laughter.

"You both look like you've been caught stealing gooseberries." She says, before tutting, and bending down to get the meat from the oven. Jim sneaks a look at me, and I bite down on my lips so not to laugh. I wonder if it must be strange for him, to have her talk so frankly about it. Hell, it's still strange for me.

 

"..You've got a beautiful home." Jim says, leaning back in his chair to look around as Ma cuts slices from the lamb, and I can practically see the glow around her, as houseproud as she is. 

 

"Well thank you very much, Jim." She says, setting his plate down in front of him, and returning to add a gravy boat. I have to wait for mine - he's the guest. "We don't have much, but we do what we can. Do you live near the bread shop?"

"On the high street, down by the main road." Jim answers, tipping gravy over his food, and I'm watching eagle-eyed, just in case he doesn't like something. He gives me an odd look, and I lean back into my seat, sheepish.

"Oh, the posh - I.. mean.. the houses..-"

"You can say it," Jim says, laughing as he spears a piece of lamb on his fork. Ma puts my plate down in front of me, and then sits across from us with her own. "The posh houses. It is. I'm from money." He shrugs like it doesn't matter, and I grin. I don't think I've ever liked him more, than when he says that. I dig into my own meal, and Ma jumps up, fetching glasses for water and setting them down between us with a jug.

"Ma," I say. "Get your dinner before it's cold. We've got-"

"Salt and pepper, Jim?"

"I'm fine, thanks - honestly."

I roll my eyes as she finally sits down, smiling as I chew. God, it's good meat. I miss eating like this. I close my eyes for a moment, savouring the taste as Binnie Hale's 'A Nice Cup Of Tea' trills from the wireless, and when I open my eyes, Jim is watching me and trying not to laugh.

  
"Do you eat meat every night, Jim?" Ma asks, and her tone is curious. Jim nods, chewing sheepishly, but she puts her hand on his on the tabletop and squeezes.

"Nothing wrong with being lucky, my boy!" She says, and he gives a small smile, before bringing a forkful of potato and veg to his mouth. 

"..Lucky." He repeats, after he's swallowed the mouthful. He frowns at me, seemingly deciding that he's safe to talk in front of Ma. Of course he is. She wouldn't say a judgmental word about anyone. He looks between us as he speaks. "..My parents are making me court a local girl."

 

His expression, moments ago so shy and pleased, is now decidedly glum, and he brings a forkful of carrots to his mouth as Ma squeezes his hand. She releases him after a second to pick up her knife and fork.

"Your Ma and Pa think they know what's best." She sighs, resignedly. "I know too many folk like that."

"..Maureen?" I ask Jim quietly, pushing peas around my plate, making a stab in the dark. He nods, and his fingers twine with mine under the table.

"..She's completely  _awful_." Jim whines, setting down his fork for a moment with a frown. I'm a little relieved that he's so relaxed around Ma, but then it's hard not to be. She sets down her own cutlery and half leans over the table, her expression anxious and concerned. "She's so loud, and she wears all this.." He grimaces, "..lipstick." He shrugs, a little defiantly. "I don't want a wife. I don't want to get married."

"I know," I say simply, and frown, hating the idea of him walking around with her, pretending for his parents' sake that he likes her. I remember her nearly pulling him apart at the dance hall, but somehow the memory isn't funny anymore. "..But you might have to. Or at least, pretend. For a while."

"It's so ridiculous. I can have anything I want - bananas, meat, to stay home from war, for God's sake-"

Ma bats at Jim's hand at the curse, and the corner of my mouth twitches up in a smile.

"..- But I can't.. I can't be.."

His words falter, and I squeeze his hand a little more under the table. I think about Jack and resist the urge to shudder.

"I know you don't like her, but it's safer this way." I say a little glumly, and kiss the back of his hand. Jim blushes, looking to Ma, who is watching me with something in her eyes. It might be pride. I continue, and slide our twined hands back beneath the table. "Just persevere with it for a while, alright?"

Jim sighs, and Ma frowns, looking deeply troubled, worried for Jim. It's something I love about her. She takes a problem and makes it her own, brings her own feelings into it. It's how she's accepted this so easily, I think.

"We are not living in the right times to be bold." She says after a while, her words gentle. "You are very very lucky, in some ways.."

"I know," Jim says, shaking his head, looking down at the food and obviously feeling bad for griping about his life. "I..-"

"But in others, you are as downtrodden as the rest!"

Jim gives a small smile. "Yeah." He says. "..I guess I am." He picks up his fork again, and after a few moments, so does Ma. We eat to the sound of the radio for a few minutes, and I'm lost in the taste of the lamb again, actually a little relieved that Jim's parents think he's courting someone. It's a better cover for us, even if I'm jealous as hell. 

"This is absolutely delicious." Jim says at last, and Ma beams, pleased as she tips more gravy over her potatoes. 

"Lucky to get this lamb." I muse, nodding towards the meat. The conversation isn't over, but we've said all we can for now. I can already see Ma thinking away, trying to come up with some way to make it all better. I haven't even told her about Jack. "Was one of the last."

"Very lucky indeed." Jim agrees, and his hand tightens on mine again. Our eyes meet, and he looks happier than he did a few moments ago, his gaze burning on mine. Somehow, I don't think he was talking about the lamb, just then.

 

\--

 

After dinner, Annie comes and knocks at the door, inviting Ma around for tea and biscuits in a voice that is almost suspiciously loud. 

"Of course, Annie." Ma calls, and walks back through, where Jim and I are washing the pots in the kitchen, both of us wearing yellow marigolds, though he's drying with a teatowel. "Let me just grab my good mug."

It's not like her to just disappear when we have a guest over, and sure enough, I catch the wink as she leans back and then potters back to the front door.

"I'll be back in half an hour." She announces with a look, and Jim and I glance at each other. I hold his gaze as the front door closes, and then his hands are on me, wet and soapy, my own fingers trapped as I struggle to tug off the marigolds. He kisses me, and I groan quietly against his mouth, his reaction electric. He gasps against my lips, and tightens his hands in my hair, and I lift him at his expensively tailored waist, sitting him on the kitchen counter. I know we're going too fast, but I let him tear off my cardigan and tug my shirt over my head. Let his hands roam over my chest as I slide down his jacket, our mouths moving together, warm and fervent. The wireless is still playing - Vera Lynn's 'It's A Lovely Day Tomorrow', and I unbutton Jim's waistcoat and push it back from his shoulders, letting him unbutton the shirt himself with shaking fingers.

Wary of the windows, I lift him from the counter and carry him through to the tiny lounge, setting him down on the sofa and crawling over him, letting him tug me down into another fierce kiss. I'll tell you one thing - for a boy who says he isn't queer, he sure as hell kisses like he is.   
"..I kissed her." He confesses, his mouth still against mine, and I frown for just a moment, before letting out a resigned breath.

"Of course you did, sweet." I say gently, and kiss him again. "You have to court her. You have to really, court her." I run my fingers down his cheek, and he nods, though my eyebrows shoot up as I feel a hand worming its way into my trousers.

 

"We don't have to do that.." I say, propping an arm over him, holding my weight. "We.. don't.. not unless you want to.."

"I want to." He says immediately, without any kind of preamble. I laugh, and nod. "Right then." I say simply, a smile playing on my lips, though they part when his fingers close around me, warm against my skin. 

"..Christ.." I whisper, and he kisses me again, his own words suddenly desperate against my lips. 

" _Touch me._  Sebastian.. please.."

Swallowing, I reach down, unfastening his trousers and sliding them down to his knees. "Anything you want, sweet." I promise, and wriggle my fingers into his underwear, something inside me pooling hot as he arches his back against the sofa, into my hand as I squeeze him.

He makes a pitiful sound, and I mirror it when he strokes me, the two of us still half dressed as we touch each other, our hands slow and slickening by the second. We've killed people, I think, distractedly for a moment. We've both ended lives, seen blood, seen different battlefields. But we're not murderers, right now. We're a couple of virgins, fooling around on the sofa. And it's perfect.  It feels like love. I know that's a dangerous thought, but God, I can't help it. And I can't tell him about Jack. Not now, not when he might leave me. I know I should encourage him to. To let him be safe.

 

".. _Jim_.." I say, his name a strained moan as he begins to stroke me faster, and I wonder if he's working me like he works himself. That thought has me rocking against his hand, pressing my lips to his and kissing him more fervently, my own hand trying to mirror his pace. 

"..Seb. _.as_..tian-" He manages in return, and his voice is so beautifully breathless that it does me in, and I'm spilling over into his fingers with a series of quiet gasps into his mouth. I think I must have been even more pent up than usual, because there's an awful lot of wet warmth spreading over my skin - before I realise that he's come too, with me, and that we're both coating the other. We breathe hard for a few moments, the both of us looking down at the soiled skin, before we start to laugh - quiet, sheepish chuckles that end with me hurrying to find kitchen towels, and Jim laying down alongside me on the sofa, the both of us spent and a little in awe.

"..I think that was probably a sin." He says after a few quiet, perfect few minutes, pressing his lips to my cheeks and forehead, though I wrinkle my nose in protest, hands carding through his hair. We're dressed again - for the most part, with Ma due back any moment. We could have done much worse, I figure. Much  _more_ , I should say. But.. for all intents and purposes, it's probably better to take this slow. Hell, it's not like we can wait for marriage.

"A sin." I repeat amusedly, and kiss him again, lingering. "Sweet, we kill people. If we're sinners, we became sinners a long time ago."

 

 

\--

 

Ma returns around ten minutes later, and brings back a half tub of vanilla ice cream that Annie's given her, whooping and hooting in celebration as she tips it into bowls, adding sprinkles of cocoa powder to the top. We all sit at the table to eat again, though neither Jim or I can stop smiling, and Ma has her eyebrows raised, smiling herself rather smugly. She thinks she's got one over on us - but we both know why she disappeared off.

Jim and I hold hands beneath the table, fingers twined firmly together as we spoon ice cream into our mouths, and Ma talks about Annie's baby grandson, and the factory today, and the weekend. It's Saturday tomorrow, I realise. I wonder how I'm going to see him again, without his family finding out. Without being.. close enough for them to potentially see us. Jack Moriarty is going to be watching me closely.

 

My expression must have turned morose, because Jim taps me on the end of the nose with his spoon, leaving a vanilla smear in its place, and Ma chuckles, tossing a cloth at me. I swipe at it with my thumb instead, and lick it. She rolls her eyes, and Jim blushes.

 

Before all too long, it's time for him to leave again.

"I told my Father I was getting the bus to Sutton for my Mother's liquor." He explains to me, as Ma puts away the dishes. "He has a client there."

I walk him to the door and frown, tilting my head. "..So what will you do about the liquor?"

He smiles. "Three bottles underneath my bed." 

 

I laugh at him, and pull him close for a moment, whispering in his ear. "Only give them two. We'll have the other."

"That's the plan." He says amusedly in return. He walks over to Ma, and she envelopes him in her arms, a long cuddle that has Jim meeting my gaze over her shoulder as he rubs her back. 

"You come back soon, you hear?" She says, and he nods, squeezing her hands in his.

"Of course.. And next time, I'll bring the meat. My treat.. I.. it was delicious. Thank you."

She pulls him into another hug, and I laugh quietly and roll my eyes. When she finally releases him, I go to walk him halfway back to the bakery. It's better than nothing, though I hate that I'm getting further away from seeing him home safe with each date. 

 

We kiss at the end of Ma's garden, and then turn onto the main road, en route to town. Neither of us see the gaggle of teenage boys, standing and watching us wide-eyed from the corner of Corland Road.

 

\--

 


	9. 9

**JIM**

I walk home with a grin on my face that could rival Sebastian's own, though it fades when I reach the back door. I sneak inside, upstairs to my bedroom and get two of the three liquor bottles, shoving them into an old paper bag. I have to sneak back out again and then come through the front door, and my Father looks over as I walk into the living room, he and my brothers lounging on the sofas to watch the television. He's so proud of that damn thing, though the only thing ever on is the Public Broadcasting Channel. Jack is stretched out on the sofa, the crooks of his fingers still bloody from the day's kill, and Tommy sips at a banana milkshake. 

 

He passes it to me as I walk past, and I pause, before accepting it. It's a nice gesture, I suppose. Who knows how much longer I'll have this? A family. A family that still like me, anyway. I wish I could have a whole family made up of people like Sebastian's mother. He may just have her, but he's luckier than he knows. 

"So when are you seeing our Maureen again, then?" Father asks, tipping back his head to look at me. The spell is broken, and I push the milkshake back into Tommy's hands, and stalk upstairs. I don't want to be reminded of that. 

 

I only want to think about Sebastian. My cheeks burn at the memory of the two of us, rubbing up against each other on that tiny sofa, his hand in my trousers.. There's a roaring in my ears, and I press my face into my pillow, embarrassed and laughing at myself. 

 

I stay there for the rest of my night, and read books. I disappear into worlds where this might be allowed. But it's just a dream.

 

\--

 

I wake up early, and it's my shift at the bakery. Something thrums, happy, in my stomach - the possibility of Sebastian coming in is small, but it's a possibility all the same. I dress in a shirt and trousers and fold back the sleeves to my elbows, forgoing the apron. It's not like I'll be doing any baking. The back of the shop is just an empty room, and we buy all our bread from the town across. A van delivers it each morning, and Father drops a few crates at the back door of the bakery on his way to whatever job he's working that day. It's always a bit stale, by that time.

 

I sometimes wonder if, like Sebastian, the locals all know what we really do.

 

Mother kisses me on the cheek as I walk through the back room, a thanks for the brandy. She's already on her first of the day, and I force a smile. In a voice croaky from sleep, she asks me when Maureen is next coming over, and I mutter something about tomorrow, before excusing myself. I'm out of the door with a handful of cornflakes, not wanting any more damn questions from any of the others, Tommy sat at the kitchen table and watching me amusedly, covered in toast crumbs.

 

I'm halfway to the bakery when it happens. My mind is on Sebastian as I toy with the keys in my pocket, eyes coming to settle on the coneflowers still laying beneath the Church donations box in the distance. I'm smiling, and there's a spring in my step, because it'll be okay. Of course it'll be okay. Maureen's our cover, and we can be safe - see each other all the time, and I'll write to him when he goes back to war. Of course, I'd rather he didn't go.. but it's bound to be over soon. That's what they're all saying, anyway. Hitler is losing. 

 

  
_"Queer!"_

I'm unlocking the bakery door at the shout, and it takes me a half second to register what the voice says. Cold floods my stomach, and I turn, my expression gaunt with shock as I look towards the source. A group of lads stand by the crossing, all gawping at me, a few years younger than me. They must still be in school, though it's a Saturday and none of them wear uniforms. They're leering, grinning, though a couple just look disgusted. One of the boys even looks scared.. as though I'm.. like I'm going to..

My throat feels thick, and I open my mouth to say something and close it again. My heart thuds in my chest, and I look left and right. Thank God there's no one around. It's a little too early, the other shops not even open yet. We try and open earlier, disguise the fact that we're not baking our own bread. These kids must have gotten up extra early to come and harass me. 

 

I'm being targeted.

 

"I don't want any trouble." I announce, trying to put a stern tone in my voice, but it falls flat. What if one of them goes to my Father? To one of my brothers? I remind myself angrily that I kill people - that I could kill any one of these boys without a second thought, if Father commanded it. Though.. though maybe not this many of them. There must be six or seven. Sixteen or seventeen years old.. Hardly 'boys' at all.

Something hard hits me in the side of the head, and I gasp, wincing and holding a hand to the skin. It comes away dotted with blood, and the stone clatters onto the pavement. I glance up, horrified, and see one of the boys sneering as he holds a hand full of pebbles. I'm turning, readying to run home when he throws the lot of them. I know it's cowardice. But I can't take on seven teenagers, even if I am two years older. Even if I kill for a living. I don't think I've ever felt more pathetic as the stones rain down on me, making me stop, shielding my face. I hear thundering footsteps and they're around me, hard hands tugging my arms out to my sides, though I yell and kick out at them. A booted foot flies at my crotch, and I'm seeing stars, the pain blinding. My knees buckle, and I hear them squawk with excited laughter, feel the hands tightening around my arms as the fists begin to fly. They may be younger, but they're also from a worse area than me. I've grown up with murder, but I've also grown up with privilege, and even if they were giving me a chance to fight, I'm not sure I'd be able to hold my own. 

 

Especially not against seven.

 

Hard fists find their way into my stomach with grunts of exertion and peals of harsh laughter when I buckle and swear, and kick out. A hard punch to my face has me biting down on my cheek, and blood wells in my mouth. I spit it at them, and one squeals in disgust, obviously not keen on catching whatever it is I 'have'. I haven't made a sound so far, keeping the only slight control that I have left, though I'm dizzied as the punches fly again at my face, my arms still held back to stop me from defending myself.

"Cowards!" I hiss, spitting more blood, and receive another punch to the stomach for my efforts. This time, I crumple to the pavement, my arms released as they kick me for a few moments, dragging the air from my lungs in pained gasps. And then they're running away, laughing and glancing back, as I throb and curse against the concrete, trying not to pass out. 

 

I feel humiliated. 

 

I'm supposed to be from one of the most privileged and dangerous families in the town, and a group of _boys_  just did me over. I lay in my shame for just a few seconds, before forcing myself to my feet, a fractured curse leaving me at the throb in my stomach, the ache of my groin and my bleeding face. I start limping towards the crossing, heading in the right direction before I even know where I'm going. Sebastian's house. I can't go home like this. I can't let my brothers see me and ask why. 

 

Those harsh, pleased laughs.. The way that boy looked at me.. scared.. My eyes burn hot in humiliation, and blood drips steadily onto my shirt, from my nose or mouth, I don't know which. I kill people. I've killed men twice my size, had them begging for their lives on the end of my knife. And yet here I am, stumbling and bleeding down Corland Road for help. A group of _boys_.

 

_Queer._

 

\--

 

I'm looking around anxiously as I hurry, wincing, up the path to Sebastian's house, in case the boys should come back. It seems right for them to be from around here, as rough an area as it is. I wonder if they saw us, last night. We weren't exactly being discreet out here in the street. My heart sinks a little as I remember the perfect evening, and then now. I bring a hand to my nose and mouth, and it comes away wet with blood.

 

The door opens, and Sebastian's Ma gasps, clapping both of her hands to her mouth. I forgot that she'd be in - it's a Saturday, after all.   
"Oh.. baby.." She says, and she sounds genuinely heartbroken as she puts an arm around my shoulders and ushers me inside, closing the door and sitting me at the kitchen table. She hurries around, sticking on the kettle first, and then dragging over the sink basin and a white cloth, wringing it out and sitting down opposite me to dab gingerly at my face. I wince, swallowing. 

"I'm sorry," I try, and she shakes her head firmly.

"Was this your Da?" She asks me concernedly, and I glance at the window, wondering where the boys live.

"..No. Local boys.. they.." I wince as she presses the cloth to my cheek, and there must be a cut there, too. "..They must have seen us. Is Sebastian-?"

He walks into the kitchen, his hair mussed from sleep and eyes bemused at the ruckus.

 

\--

 

**SEBASTIAN**

 

I'm woken up by the sound of voices in the kitchen, and when I check my clock, it's around half past seven in the morning. Frowning, I sit up in bed, before pulling on a pair of trousers and running a hand through my hair, still squinting as I walk out into the kitchen.

 

I freeze, blinking. I'm not quite sure I.. 

"Jim?" I say, the word a kind of uncertain horror, taking a concerned step closer at the sight of all the blood. I try for words, but they won't come, until it clicks into place. 

"..Your Da?" I ask, the words crisp, slow and instantly furious.

He shakes his head. 

"Local boys." Ma says, anger flitting over her face for a moment as she glances at me, before she's concerned again, dabbing gingerly at Jim's cut lip. He winces, and my hands curl into fists by my sides. Local boys. That can only be the pastor's boy and his friends. Only group that hang around here. They must have seen us last night. I remember seeing them on my way back from walking him home, sitting on the grass and laughing a little too loudly. 

 

I take a few hurried steps closer, and kneel down beside where he sits, slipping a soft hand to his cheek, and turning his face to look at me, though Ma tuts, reaching further across to dab the blood from his chin. 

"Are you alright, sweet?" I ask him, my words quiet and my eyes concerned. There's anger bubbling in my stomach. Not anger. Rage. The kind of sheer rage undoubtedly useful at war, but that I've yet to summon. Until now. Until someone laid a hand on my Jim.

 

He gives a bitter laugh and then winces at the effort, swallowing. He pulls a hand away from his stomach, and I can see a muddy scuff on the shirt. They kicked him. I close my eyes for a moment, willing that anger to die down just a little. I feel murderous. I feel uncontrollable. 

"I'm fine." Jim says at last. "Just.. embarrassed.  _Boys_ , Sebastian." 

Ma taps him on the nose, her words gentle as she wrings out the cloth in the sink.  
"I bet there were ten of them."

 

"Seven."

 

 "Cowards! Little boys. I ought to speak to their Ma's."

"I ought to do more than that." I say gruffly, and climb back to my feet, taking the basin and emptying it into the sink, pink water washing down the plug hole. I refill it fresh, and set it back on the table, before pacing to the door, and near tearing it off it's hinges.

"Sebastian!" Ma and Jim yell, almost at the same time, though as I glance back, Jim claps a hand to his lip, the effort of the shout making it bleed afresh. It's the only motivation I need. And as luck would have it, the pastor's boy and his friends are just turning onto the road. There are flecks of blood on a white shirt. They're not little boys at all. They're only a year or so younger than us. They're about to grow up pretty fast.

 

I slam the front door behind me.

 

\--

 

"You think you're funny?" I demand, having stormed over to the boys, still barechested in just the trousers. The boys glower back at me, a couple of them shying away from my anger, written in every line of my face. I feel furious. These idiots, these little fucking imbeciles - they don't know what they've done. Not only have they hurt Jim, but they've given him something that he has to explain to his family. 

". _.Queer._ " Comes the sneered retort, from the pastor's son as he folds his arms stubbornly across his chest. The youngest must be sixteen. I bet some will be enlisting this year. We don't need cowards in the army. I step forward, and quick as a flash, kick out the pastor's son's legs, bringing him down onto his arse and catching him by the throat. I punch him hard in the face, and the others are on me, hard fists pounding into my bare torso, though I turn, grabbing them one by one, ploughing through them with firm fists and an unrestrained rage. I aim only to hurt, and not to kill. As much as I'd like to..

 

 A few of them run, and the pastor's son clutches at his mouth, trying to scramble to his feet. I drag him up by his collar and push him into one of his friends, bringing them both down onto the concrete. A roar goes up behind me, and arms latch around my neck, but I throw him off onto the grassy verge, the boy groaning as he curls in on himself on the grass. I stand, fists up in front of me, rage still pounding through my veins. 

 

But they're gone. Done in, and I'm barely getting started. The pastor's son has his arms around his friend's shoulders, and they half carry him home, other boys running in every direction. 

 

" _You come back, and I'll have you!_ " I roar, my fists clenched at my sides. Ma runs out of the house, and tries to tug me inside, but I grit my teeth, eyes following the teenagers as they scarper. " _You lay another finger on either of us-_ "

"Sebastian," Ma urges, "Not now. No more attention."

I frown, and let her pull me inside. Jim looks at me with a kind of dumb shock, and I bend down beside him again, cupping his cheek with my hand.

"..Are you completely insane?" He asks me, and I pick up the cloth, and dab at the cut on his cheek. Ma bustles into the next room, returning with antiseptic fluid and muttering to herself about my pride. She's never seen me like that before. Hell. I've never seen me like that before.

"..They hurt you, sweet." I say quietly, and Jim leans into my hand, though his eyes are still a little disbelieving.

"You're barely dressed.." He says, letting me run a hand through his hair, straightening it, before I fold down his collar. "And there were seven of them!"

I just shrug, a shadow of the grin finding its way onto my lips, though I can't quite get it back while he's still bloodied and hurt.  "Got to defend my own."

"..Your own?"

I lean my forehead against his, and Ma pretends to be busy, finding another cloth beneath the sink.   
"..You're mine, aren't you?" I ask softly, and I suppose it's a kind of confirmation. Going steady. He waits for a moment or two and then just nods, his smile small. Mine is small in return. We're just asking for more of this. More pain. It seems like everyone is against us. But this won't happen again. I won't let him be hurt. 

 

"..I'd have killed them." I say simply. And it's true. I'd kill every single one of those damned boys, if it would make Jim feel better. If it would make me feel better, for not being there to protect him. The thought should alarm me.

 

It doesn't.

 

He takes my bloodied knuckles in his hands, and Ma straightens, tutting at the sight of our injuries.

"Look at the two of you!" She says exasperatedly, though I think that she sounds a little resigned. She must know that we're asking for this, too. But I just want to be happy. To make Jim happy.

 

"..We've been in the wars." Jim replies, smiling wryly despite the cut on his lip, his cheek, the flowering bruise by his eye. I hope those boys are scared to go back outside. I wish I'd done more.

I lean in to kiss him, not minding that Ma flaps her hands and turns away to give us a moment. I'm amazed at how calm she is about all this. Undoubtedly, she's going to have angry neighbours at our door. I want to see them try and take her on. My Ma can be terrifying. I wonder if I get it from her. 

 

Jim's right, I think, our lips moving together, and my hand sliding to rest at the nape of his neck. We have. We've been in the wars.

 

 Too bad our war is only just beginning.

 

\--

 

 


	10. 10

**JIM**

I can't tell you how much I want to stay with Sebastian. I'd stay with him all day, lounge around together or head out for a walk - but I pull myself to my feet when his Ma tries to steer me to the sofa for a lay down. 

"I have to get back to the bakery." I say, as she looks at me concernedly, an arm around my shoulders. Sebastian frowns, fiddling with my fingers. I think he wants to tell me not to go, but he knows that I have to. My father will be furious if the shop doesn't open, never mind what's happened to me. 

"I'll walk you back there." He says firmly at last, and stands, sliding an arm around my waist. I want to protest that I'm not an invalid, but I don't - I'm enjoying his arm around me too much. I thank his mother, and she nods, standing and clutching her bloodied cloth, concern etched deep into her features. I feel awful for worrying her - but I never could have gone home. 

 

Sebastian helps me back down the path, and the street is deserted. On the road, there's a boy's shoe, obviously abandoned in the haste to get away from Sebastian. It makes me smile, at least. His Ma and I watched him from the kitchen window. He could give Craig a run for his money, that's for sure. I feel very flattered that he fought like that for me, barely dressed and scrapping in the road. And then, I feel embarrassed that it was necessary. I should have been able to defend myself, even just a little bit.

 

He walks me all the way to the bakery door, watching unhappily as I unlatch my hand from his, not wanting anyone to see. If any of my brothers had seen us.. I would have been in worse shape now, undoubtedly. I unlock the doors again and step inside, and as I do, Sebastian reaches out, and strokes the skin on the underside of my wrist, a morose goodbye. Just for now.  I pause and smile at him, mouthing a 'thank you' - and when I reach the counter and turn back, he's already gone.

 

\--

 

The day passes, long and awful without him. I don an apron to cover up the blood on my shirt, and serve customers with a short, false smile, hoping that none ask about the cut on my lip and cheek, and the bruise beginning on my cheekbone. None do. Maybe we've got a reputation in this town, after all.

 

Tommy comes in to help after a few hours, and he swears aloud, dropping a crate of bread almost on his own toes, and pacing over to me. 

"What the fuck?"  
"..Just local boys. I was opening up this morning, they were probably just bored." I shrug it off and busy myself with the display of bread rolls. I've had my explanation planned word for word for hours. Tommy watches me aghast, his voice gruff.  
"You get any names?"  
"What? No. It's nothing. Just leave it, Tommy."

". _.Boys._ " He repeats, looping an apron over his head and tying the strings behind his back. "Did you-"

"I couldn't take on seven of them." I snap, "So no. Don't even ask."

"..Someone's got the hump." He mutters, and then goes into the back room to smoke.

 

\--

 

Later on, I'm counting out the coins in the till when Maureen comes in. It's a little disconcerting that my stomach drops so suddenly with dread, my lips pursing flat as she gasps, and dashes over to the counter. "What happened?!" She demands, her voice as shrill and loud and unwelcome as ever. She half pulls me over the glass top, taking my face in her hands. I wince, and try and pull back, but she's already peppering red-lipsticked kisses to my cuts, disgust bubbling in my chest.

"Local - boys.."

 

I finally tug myself back, and clatter into a bread shelf behind me, frowning at her. "Just jumped out at me. Ran off after. Little cowards."

 

"That's  _awful!_ " She exclaims, and places her hands together at her chest, atop a garish pink cardigan. I cringe at the sound of her voice in the shop, and Tommy peeks out of the back room with a half wave that she returns. He's been out for at least four cigarettes so far. 

 

I just shrug at her words, fold my arms across my chest a little defensively, the apron still thankfully hiding the blood stains. 

 

"..So," She says after taking a respectable amount of time to look shocked and appalled. She leans forwards, pressing her cardigan breasts to the counter glass, and I frown, aware that I'll have to polish away away smears. She smiles sweetly, and I blink back at her, trying to pay attention. She seems to have gotten over my attack quickly enough. "I was thinking that we could go to the dance hall tonight."

"Oh." I say, and don't say anything else for a long few moments, eyes settling on the shop door. Sebastian hasn't been in so far. He must be trying to keep his distance, save anything like what happened this morning, happening again. I frown after a moment, shrugging with my words disgruntled. "It's just a phonograph. No band."

"I like the phonograph." Maureen says, and reaches for my hands, prying them from my chest before I can step back. She pulls me closer, and kisses me on the mouth over the counter, her lips moving slow, warm and wet against mine. I don't kiss back. But I let her do it. When she finally releases me and leans back, my mouth is wet and I have the impulse to wipe it on my sleeve. She bounds back to the door, and straightens her cardigan.

"I'll see you tonight, then. Seven O Clock sharp! Bye, Tommy!"

 

\--

 

The hours slide by, slow and heavy. I think about Sebastian all day and wonder if he's thinking about me. I let myself dwell on his hands, strong hands that slid over my chest and into my trousers, that slammed into the idiots that laid their own hands on me. I think about his eyes, cheeky and twinkling, and the smile that could win over the coldest old maid. I only saw him this morning, only kissed him this morning, and before that, the night before.. But I miss him. It seems that everything has gone too fast. 

 

A few days ago, I was normal. Now I'm queer.

 

Now I'm in love.

 

The thought puts a funny feeling in my chest, and it remains there for the rest of the day. It's there when Tommy and I lock up, when we walk home, and it's there when I have to explain my cuts and bruises to Mother and Father, and Craig and Jack, Craig's hands still coated in dried blood from the day's kill. My father booms and rants about the problem youth, and how he should march over to their houses and teach a little respect to the parents. 

 

I manage to placate them with news of my date with Maureen, and by the time I've made it upstairs, Jack has been singing Lilli Marlene to me for the past ten minutes, somehow more jovial about the news than the rest of my family. I lay on my bed, and wish that I could get a message to Sebastian somehow. I think about hearing the songs he loves without him there, and my heart sinks. I let myself daydream about Maureen's death. We may not have known each other for long, but I could play the infatuated, heartbroken lover. It would give me at least another year or so of freedom. I think about sinking a knife through that pink cardigan, or wrapping my hands around her throat. 

 

But I won't. I couldn't. And not only because we need her for a cover. 

 

Mother cooks dinner for once, the cook off for the day, and I'm dragged back downstairs for a questionable 'meal' of fried fish, runner beans and potatoes boiled to mush. I much prefer Sebastian's Ma's cooking, I think, knowing that she'd probably pull me into another hug if I told her so. I'm smiling at my plate, when my brothers announce that they're coming to the dance hall too. Jack and Barbara and Tommy and June. The two brothers with the two sisters. My smile fades, but I suppose it doesn't really make much difference. It won't exactly be a pleasant night anyway.

 

At least Craig isn't coming. I doubt he's taken Jean dancing for months.

 

\--

 

We all disappear to our rooms to get ready after dinner, and I pull out the suit from underneath my bed morosely, running my fingers over the grass stains. I sigh and hide it again after a few moments, dressing in black trousers with brown braces, a white shirt and brown jacket. I wish I didn't have to go. This all seems so false. If she wasn't so irritating, I might feel bad for Maureen. That's progress, at least. An hour ago I was fantasising about killing her. 

 

I join the others in the living room when I'm ready. Tommy is dressed head to toe in grey pinstripes, whilst Jack wears black and white, and a waistcoat. They're both sipping Mother's brandy, but I turn down a glass from her, and Father comes up behind me and slaps me on the shoulder, straightening my collar and telling me to 'go get her'. I force a smile that's more a grimace, and my brothers drain their drinks and whoop, dragging me towards the door. I don't want to 'go get her'. I want to meet Sebastian at the gate, and take his arm. Walk there with him instead. I hate this.

 

I have to admit that we look good as we walk down the street. The Moriarty boys, dressed to the nines. Or three of them, at least. We walk past Craig and Jean's house, and I flinch as I hear something crash into the wall, followed by shouting.

"He's a bastard, ain' he?" Jack says, rather fondly, as we head past. 

 

We reach Maureen's house first, and I greet her on the doorstep with a kiss to the cheek, and shake hands with her father. It all feels wrong. I feel sick. He father has the same stern eyes that she does, and his handshake is tough. She waves goodbye, and then twines her arm with mine as we walk down the street. Her red hair flows free over her shoulders, and it looks better that way. It makes her face less angular, softer somehow. She leans into me as we walk, and I suppose I could have picked someone worse. Even if her voice grinds on me, and I'll never want to take her to bed.  Even if I'd end her life in a second, if it would somehow help us. But definitely progress. 

 

I realise that I'm looking around for Sebastian as we walk. 

 

June and Barbara are next, and their house is close to the hall. Their parents don't come to the door, used to Jack and Tommy, and the girls dash out, dressed to the nines in big, puffed dresses like Maureen's. They all hang off us as we walk along, but I stay quiet as the rest of the group laughs and half dances through the road. I think the girls have already been drinking, too. It's strange to feel alone in a group of happy people. 

 

\--

 

My heart leaps into my throat when we enter the hall and I see the khakis. But of course, the soldiers are still on leave, and none of them are him. I feel just as disappointed, and excuse myself to get Maureen and I some drinks. She sets them down almost immediately when I get back, pulling me to my feet to dance. She's just as enthusiastic as the first time we danced, tugging me this way and that, and I'm half-smiling just at the memory of Sebastian by the drinks table, grinning at me as I'm tossed about. 

 

The phonograph plays song after song, an attendant in the corner appearing to change the records every now and again. I don't get to sit down. I don't know the names of all the songs, apart from when they play Gene Krupa, and I wish Sebastian were here to be exasperated with me, to laugh at me and tell me who they're by. 

 

By the time we've been there an hour, I still haven't sat down, but I don't mind so much. I don't have to dwell on Sebastian that way, not when I'm so busy trying to make sure that Maureen doesn't pull me flat onto my face. I glance back, and see Tommy in the corner, his hands roaming over June's dress as they kiss heatedly, Barbara leaning against Jack on the benches, the two of them sipping punch. The next song is Moonlight Serenade, by Glenn Miller.

 

My heart sinks.

 

"I love this song!" Maureen exclaims, and pulls me hard against her, dragging my hands to her waist, and looping her arms around my neck. I feel sick. It feels wrong. This is the song that Sebastian and I danced to. Maybe I can't do this after all. I can't. 

 

I pull back to try and excuse myself, but when I do, Maureen kisses me, misinterpreting the action. My throat is thick, and now I feel even worse. She kisses me slow, and presses her tongue against my lips, and I part them reluctantly, just letting her do as she likes. When she finally frees me, she leans her head down against my shoulder, the two of us still swaying to Glenn Miller.

"We should get married." She says, her voice dreamy. I don't say anything, but something tightens uncomfortably in my stomach.

"Really," She says, lifting her head to look at me again, and fluttering her eyelashes. "I'm nearly twenty two. I want _babes_ soon."

_Jesus Christ._

"You're twenty two?" I repeat hollowly, going for the part of that sentence easier to deal with. She nods, and giggles, before tapping me on the end of the nose.

"I wish I'd met you years ago." She says, and then sighs, leaning back against me. The song seems endless. There's a roaring in my ears now that accompanies my stuttering heart, and I don't like it. If my parents find out her age, they'll encourage me to marry her as soon as I can. Maybe even before Jack and Tommy propose. I don't want this. I don't want marriage, or a house and babes. I just want Sebastian. 

"..Are you okay?" She asks me after a moment, loosening her arms around my neck to look at me. I realise that I've stopped swaying, and am standing, staring over at the punch table with a kind of morose, gaunt shock. The fear of the future is crushing me from every side. 

"Just.. need some air." I manage, pulling myself free, my words uttered unhappily. Luckily, the song has just ended.

"I'll get fresh drinks!" Maureen announces, before pulling me close by my lapels and kissing me again. I pull back and stagger to the door, wiping a sleeve over my mouth. I burst out into the cold air and tip my head back, breathing in the cool with harsh and heavy breaths, hating this, hating this life. This is no longer a cover. She wants to marry me, she wants to carry my children.

 

I don't want it, I scream internally. I don't want any of it. I just.. I just want..

"Evening."

 

I spin on the spot, almost falling over in my haste, panting in the cold evening air. That sounded like -

 

Sebastian leans against the side of the hall, arms folded across his chest. He's wearing his trousers, shirt and braces from today, his hair still untidily mussed and that grin on his face as he watches me, amused. 

 

My heart soars, and I half throw myself at him. He laughs and catches me, not moving an inch as I slam against him, his arms sliding around me.

"I think you missed me, sweet." He muses, and I bat my hands at him, muttering with my face already buried in his chest. The relief is crippling, and I think maybe it's true. That I'm in love. 

"Don't.. flatter yourself."

 

\--

 


	11. 11

**SEBASTIAN**

"How did you know I was here?" Jim asks me, as we walk around the side of the hall out of sight. We don't have long. He'll have to get back to Maureen, I know. I shrug, and grin at him again. I've been missing him all damn day, worrying about those little fuckers catching up to him again, or his brothers getting on his case. I still regret not being around when they pounced. But I can't be there all the time, as much as I'd like to be.

 

"Annie's youngest daughter, Dot, wanted to go out dancing with her friends. But they're only sixteen. Said I'd keep an eye out." I explain, and lace our fingers. "Ducked out when I saw you here. Didn't want to.. make things harder."

I hope Dot isn't in there now, kissing some squaddie five years older than her. Ma and Annie'll be on my case. Jim nods, and frowns, eyes finding the grass morosely.

"Maureen as violent as ever?" I tease, and he elbows me. I laugh as I press him back against the wall of the hall, his hands coming to settle at my lower back. 

"She wants to marry me." Jim admits, looking glum. I run my thumb over the cut at his lip, and mirror his frown, though I don't feel all too concerned.

"All girls want to get married, sweet." I say gently, and he shakes his head.

"She's twenty two. She wants to get married  _now_."

 

I tilt my head to one side. "Well, that might be a problem.."

 

"You think?" 

He looks so miserable when he looks down at the grass, that I have to dip my fingers beneath his chin and tilt his head up, letting our mouths find each other. His hands tighten on my shirt as we kiss, and he's eager, almost desperate. I pull back after a moment.

"Hey," I say quietly, an attempt at reassurance. "It's all gonna be okay. I promise. One day." I added the last two words to be realistic, to stop him from reeling off a list of reasons why it won't be. He opens his mouth to say something, but a call comes from around the front, and he freezes.

"Jim?"

It's Maureen.

 

It's mad, and I don't know why we do it. But instead of sending him back to her, we both turn and bolt in the opposite direction, running around the back of the hall and laughing as we lean against the wall, breathless and ridiculous. The call comes again, and we run around the other side, hands laced together, neither of us particularly sure why. Jim pushes me back against the wall and kisses me hard, and his hand slides down to my trousers, though I bat it away with a chuckle.

 

"So eager, sweet.."

"Fuck off." He murmurs against my lips, and I laugh and slide my hands into his hair to keep him to me, not caring that I'm mussing up his artfully styled do. I'm smiling against his mouth, and he pushes his tongue past my lips, forcing me to concentrate on the kiss. It makes me happy, this. Being with him, being near him, having his lips pressed against mine. And it makes me angry - because how is this any different from being in love with a girl? Why can't we have the same things? Why are we hunted, like we're the damned enemy?

 

"Stop thinking." Jim orders, breathless as he pulls back. "I'm sick of it. I've been thinking all day, and it doesn't help. It isn't helping."

 

I run my fingers down his cheek, and then we both jump as a deafening wail starts up. He realises what it is before I do, so used to war life, and not that of home, and he swears, stepping back and looking around alarmedly. It's the air raid siren. Which means that we need to get to a shelter as quickly as possible, and I need to get Dot and her friend home. 

"Come with me." I say firmly, not wanting to risk not knowing where he is, where he's gone. 

"I.." He says, a little panicked. "Maureen - my brothers.."

"They'll take her with them." I assure, "You can say you just ran to the nearest shelter."

"And left the girl behind? That's cowardly."

I take his hand and roll my eyes, a half grin on my lips as we run back around towards the front of the hall. The crowds are spilling out, teenagers running left and right, heading for home and communal shelters.   
"Well then maybe she won't want to marry you, sweet."

 

I can tell that he's rolling his eyes, but I free his hand as I spot Dot and her friend, running with one of our neighbours back towards Corland Road. 

"Dot!" I call, and she turns, fear written in young eyes. I glance at Jim, telling him to stay put and then jog over, nodding at my neighbour in greeting. It's a ruckus around us, what with the bustle of a panicked crowd and the wail of the siren. Lights are being turned off, the dance hall suddenly in darkness, to save giving the bomber planes a target. "Get your Ma and mine to the shelter, alright?" I say, and she nods, her voice small. 

"We're going there now! Aren't you coming?"

 

I shake my head, and jab a thumb back at the hall. "Gonna help them put the phonograph away. If you see my Ma, tell her.. Tell her I have to help jimmy it back into the box."

She frowns, a little confused, but nods anyway. I give her a little push, and she turns to run with the others. I hope Ma understands my message. 'Jimmy'. God, it's stupid. I turn back to him, and point towards the nearest shelter, about a half mile behind the dance hall in a thicket of trees. Of course, it's dark back there, no movement around the shelter. They've all run home to use their family shelters, or communal ones. 

 

We're running together, pausing when Jim elbows me and points back, the silhouettes of two boys and three girls darting off down the path. His brothers, their dates and Maureen, I assume. I turn him back around, and we run, the wail of the sirens almost painful. 

"Fuck-" I say, the first bombs beginning to fall in the distance, blasts of light and muted thumps, followed by clouds of smoke. The flashes are bright in the dark sky, and I hop down into the ditch, pulling Jim down with me and letting him go first, crawling into the shelter and turning on the oil lamp.

 

I close the heavy door, though it's not quite as sturdy as the one on our communal shelter, so I prop a wooden chair beneath the handle. I turn to squint through the half darkness at the two benches, the place tiny and cramped, a pile of dusty blankets on one side, and a few unlabelled cans of food next to the oil lamp. 

"Not what I had in mind for a fifth date.." Jim muses, and I snort, sitting down on one of the benches and rubbing at my eyes with my fingers.

"Only the best for you, sweet." I tease, as a rather loud, echoing thud lands somewhere nearby, shaking the floor beneath our feet. We share a look, and then we move, the both of us sitting on the concrete floor, towards one side of the shelter. I tug down the dusty blankets, and drape one around him before putting a few more over our legs. 

"..It's bad tonight." He notes, and I nod, slipping my hands around his waist. I pull him close and rest my chin on his shoulder, able to press slow kisses to his cheek. He's warm, and he smells like expensive soap. He leans into me, and I wonder if Ma and Annie, her daughter and the baby and Dot all got to the shelters okay. If Jim's family did, too. Though they have their private one, of course.

"Is this what it's like?" Jim asks me after a moment, his fingers playing with mine at his waist. "..At war?"

I think for a few long moments, and answer softly, if honestly. 

"No. It's more like.. if we dug a hole out there in the grass, and then sat in it while the bombs fell." I press a kiss to his neck. "..And add a few inches of mud, and sleeting rain.."

Jim leans into my affections and closes his eyes. I continue, words spoken against his skin.

"..And other boys trying to kill you, as you try and kill them.."

If I close my eyes, I can still see it all. The trenches, the faces of my friends blown open. A man, carrying half an arm across the battlefield, dazed from the blood loss and holding onto the hope that someone can maybe reattach it for him. One of my good friends emptied the contents of his stomach, at that. It didn't phase me. Nothing ever did. 

"I shot a German boy in the face." I say, reliving the memory with nothing but numbness. "He would have shot me if I hadn't, but he couldn't have been eighteen. Not sure what their conscription age is, but.. he didn't look older than fourteen or fifteen."

 

Jim turns to look at me, and his fingers tighten on mine. I give a small, half-grateful smile.

 

"Doesn't really matter how old you are." I go on quietly, as another resounding thud shakes the earth, and brings dust from the ceiling, visible in the light from the oil lamp. "They all cry for their Ma's at night."

 

"..You must think I'm a coward." Jim says, but I shake my head, and kiss the skin of his neck again, my arms tightening around him.

"No, sweet. I think you're lucky."

I wouldn't wish war on anyone. And never, never Jim. 

 

He doesn't say anything to that, and we fall into a kind of comfortable, contemplative silence, the both of us no doubt thinking about terrible things. I stroke my fingers over the skin of his arms, his jacket forgotten on the bench, and watch as the hairs stand on end. I wish we had the wireless, and start humming beneath my breath, Vera Lynn's 'Lilli Marlene' that I heard earlier, over dinner with Ma.

"Jack was singing that this morning.." Jim muses quietly, and I still, remembering that I still haven't told him that Jack knows. Of course, I should tell him. But that worry is still there - that he'll instantly deem this too dangerous, and push me away. Try for a life that he doesn't want with Maureen, for his father's approval. Everything ruined. Taken away.. I can't risk it.

 

We're doing well, though. We must be, because I haven't seen Jack Moriarty since, and I figure I'd be his first stop if he still thought something was going on.

 

"Vera Lynn." I agree, and Jim turns in my arms, pressing his lips to mine. 

"I like it when you do that." He muses, hooking his fingers beneath my braces. "..Talk about music."

"Love my music, sweet." I murmur, eyes on his lips, and he kisses me again, his mouth warm. It's cosy down here, even if we're surrounded by dust and moth-eaten blankets, and the thuds of falling bombs outside. It's as much privacy as we're ever going to get, and his hands slide down my chest to my trousers, that same eagerness bringing a slow smile onto my lips.

 

"Can I help you?" I tease, and his fingers are deft on my button and zip, and then suddenly he's got a hand around me, my quiet laugh catching in my throat.

 

"Jim.." I say, a half moan, and watch him as he crawls backwards a little, the blanket still draped over him, and then leans down, tugging me free of my pants and trousers. My mouth drops open slightly, and I curse under my breath as he dips his head and takes me into the warmth of his mouth, already hard just from keeping him against me. Dark eyes flick up to take in my expression, and I'm watching him with a kind of awe, my fingers carding through his hair of their own accord. God, it feels good. I've.. never..

 

" _Jim_..-" I say again, leaning my head back against the brickwork as he moves further down, swallowing me into more wet heat, my word choked. It's amazing.. It's damned amazing.. Better than the other day, better than my own hand in the barracks.. This isn't going to take long at all, I'm sure of it. 

 

I have to resist the urge to roll my hips up into his mouth, not wanting to give him more than he can take, but Christ, he takes the cue anyway. He sinks down further and I groan, his hand warm and firm around the base of me as his pace begins to quicken, slick and wet and warm. My hands tighten in his hair, and I'm panting, swearing, uttering his name interspersed with 'sweet', and 'baby'..

 

When I come, it's with the kind of burning, blissful release that I've never experienced before, and I spill over into his mouth with an "..Oh - fuck..-" that ends up a garbled groan, my heart rocketing in my chest. He pulls back, his lips wet, and looks at me for a moment a little uncertainly. I wince apologetically, but he finally smiles and swallows, his adam's apple bobbing as I watch. I raise my eyebrows, another shiver of heat in my stomach at the sight, and then I tuck myself away and pull him against me, barely letting my breathing return to normal before I have his trousers shucked down to his knees, and a hand in his pants.

He's more vocal than I am, letting out a cry of surprise just at that, though he's already rock hard, and I guide him up onto the bench, and kneel between his legs. My hands curl around his bare arse and drag him closer to me, and he tips his head back, his fingers sliding to cup the back of my head. I lap at him for a few moments, and press kisses to the insides of his pale thighs, enjoying that he rocks himself towards me, fingers scrabbling at the back of my head. 

 

When I take him into my mouth, he whispers my name, and it's the sweetest sound I think I've ever heard. I circle him with my tongue, just guessing what he might like, not exactly experienced with this, but it seems to work.. He whimpers and bucks his hips as I swallow him deeper, and suck hard, fingers worrying so tightly at my scalp.

"Sebastian.." He whines, and I shudder, closing my eyes. " _Sebastian_.."

  
Somehow, he's even quicker than I am. It only takes a few minutes, a few long sucks and the swirl of my tongue, before he's spilling into my mouth, bitter and warm. I swallow without even thinking about it, and then lave my tongue over him again, before I let him tug me up. I don't quite make it onto the bench, and we fall back onto the blankets together, more dust falling from the ceiling as the thuds resound again, though we don't care. We're kissing, long and lazy kisses, hands roaming over one another, his tongue in my mouth and my own taste mingling with his. That.. was fantastic.

"I love you Sebastian." He says, just a breath against my lips after a while, and my hands slide under his shirt, warm against the skin of his back as I kiss him again, those words sending my chest a flutter.

"I love you too, sweet." I murmur back, meeting his gaze, and he cups my cheeks in his hands, looking into my eyes intently as if trying to see if I'm telling the truth.

 

He must find what he's looking for, because he smiles, and kisses me again, my back against the wall as he straddles my lap, his arms around my neck. He loves me. I love him. We love each other. 

 

Why is that so wrong?

 

\--

 

We stay like that for a long time. Our hands on each other, our mouths pressed together, murmuring thoughts or comments that make the other either laugh or lean in for another kiss. I'm not just in love with him, I'm fucking delirious for him. My worries about his brother, or the local boys, or going back to war.. They're gone, for a little while. 

 

It's just Jim and I, some old blankets, and an oil lamp. And I've never been happier. 

 

When the siren finally sounds for the second time, the short, sharp blip that signals the raid is over, it must be late. Ten or eleven at night, no doubt. We kiss a little more morosely, our hands lingering for a little longer on the other's skin, knowing that our time is up. Jim's excuse about running to the first shelter won't work out if he doesn't go home straightaway.

 

"I'll meet you tomorrow, sweet." I promise quietly, running my hands down the side of his face, and meeting those big brown eyes in earnest. "We'll go to the park again. Or walk out to the outskirts of town."

"We could get a bus to Sutton." Jim suggests, between more lingering kisses, and I nod.

"That's a nice idea. Yeah. Yeah, if you want to."

 

We get dressed slowly, postponing the inevitable. I kiss him again by the dimming glow of the oil lamp, and then we unhook the chair from the door, letting us out into darkness, and a sky full of smoke and twinkling stars. I take his hand to pull him out of the ditch, and he half falls into me, though maybe it's on purpose. His arms find my waist, and we stand entwined again, before a call makes us both freeze.

_"Jim?_ "

 

The voice is loud and male, but it isn't close - nearby probably, but not in our line of sight. Regardless, we spring apart, and I swear as more voices join the first. "Jim?"  "Jim!"  "..Jim? James?"

 

"It's my family! And her!" He hisses, the both of us running back towards the dance hall, and splaying flat against the brick wall. 

"Go." I mouth to him, our chests heaving from the sprint, and nodding towards the grasses beside the building. I lean in and kiss him hard, and then give him a little push, and he swallows and nods, jogging out into plain sight.

"I'm here!" He calls loudly, and his words are mirrored in the other voices.

_"He's over there!" "Jim? He's there - they've found him!" "Is he alright?" "Jim!"_   


 

I hear footsteps, and hurriedly edge back around the side of the hall, my heart thudding in my chest. I hear Jim laugh a little nervously as more voices converge on him, and I can only make out his own words in the cacophony of his family. His three brothers, it sounds like. His father, too. 

"I - just ran to the first shelter.. Yeah - yeah, its back there... I'm sorry, I.. - No, I'm sorry I.."

He can't seem to get a word in edgeways. But he's alright. And his family are fine. Worried about him. I try and edge off, to head home and make sure Ma and Annie are alright - but then I hear it. It sounds like a thud and a startled sound from Jim, and I still.

"You were with 'im, weren't you?" The voice is loud and angry. It's Jack. "You were with ' _im_!"

"I don't know what-"

"Freddy saw 'im sneaking off outside just before  _you_  fucked off and left Maureen." Comes the harsh retort, and the rest of Jim's family have fallen silent. In shock, I wonder.. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jack, you fucking imbecile. 

"..What?" The older voice is slower than the others, distinctly authoritative and unimpressed, unhappily bemused. Jim's father. 

  
"I don't know what he's talking about, Dad." Jim's voice is too fast, a touch too high and pleading.

 

_Keep it together, sweet. Please, for God's sakes.._

 

  
_"Yes you fuckin' do_." Jack sounds livid. I wonder if he suspected that Jim had come to meet me. If he's been searching for the pair of us through the air raid, getting progressively more and more outraged. He shouts the final insult at his brother, and I hear another thump as he pushes Jim again.

 

"He's a _fuckin' queer_."

 

 

\--

 


	12. 12

**Jim**

 

_Queer._

 

The word hangs in the air for what seems like hours, and there's a roaring in my ears. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I watch as my father simply turns away, and begins to walk back over the grass. Craig and Tommy follow him, and Jack gives me a push, sending me staggering after them. Apparently, this is something we have to talk about at home. I don't even dare to look back to see if Sebastian is still there, lest I expose his hiding place and put him in danger. He's definitely in danger, right now. 

 

The silence is ominous.

 

My mind is whirring, panicking, the night hazing before my eyes as I try desperately to keep calm, trying to figure out how the hell Jack knows about him. I hadn't even realised. He keeps a hand at my back, and I feel like a prisoner, being guided back to my cell. Probably about right. I have no idea what my punishment will be.

 

At the crossroads to Corland Road, I risk a glance. I see him. Sebastian is half hidden behind a wall, but he stretches his hand across the brickwork towards me as we pass, and I feel a kind of ache for him. It's over. Whatever we had is over. It has to be, now. 

 

I cock my head to the side, telling him to go. Jack spins on the spot to look back, but Sebastian has already disappeared. My brother gives me a hard push forwards. Still, no one has said a word.

 

\--

 

When we reach home, my father goes inside first and turns on all the lights. I watch through the kitchen window as my mother appears, and he says something to her. She purses her lips, eyes alarmed, and they flick to me through the glass. I look away. She pulls the blinds.

 

Craig turns to me after a few minutes of standing outside, and without any warning, suddenly grabs me by the collar, hauling me around the side of the house and in through the back door, shoving me into the living room. Jack and Tommy follow him in, and Tommy turns the lock on the door. I swallow, but stand my ground. These are my brothers. I'm not weak. I won't let them see me be weak. The motherfuckers just don't understand.

 

Craig begins to pace. It's a slow, sauntering swagger that tells me just how angry he is, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. I wait for what seems like a lifetime, just watching him, concentrating on my chest rising and falling with each breath. Jack and Tommy watch, nonplussed. 

 

"So all this time," Craig begins, still sauntering around the room, his eyes on his knuckles as he examines them disinterestedly. But he's enjoying himself. You can hear it in his voice. "We thought you were datin' Maureen. And you've really been gettin' fucked up the arse by some idiot."

 

My cheeks burn hot, and I look away, anger and slight humiliation fluttering in my chest. I won't admit to anything. Not if I can still save myself.

 

"A soldier." Jack interjects, and both of my other brothers look over to him. Jack gives me a withering look. "Real big fucker. You'd never think it."

 

The kitchen is only a sliding glass door away. I can see my parents' figures, blurry as they move behind it. They must not be saying anything, because we'd hear it. But they'll be listening to every word. My mind goes blank again, trying to figure out how Jack knows that Sebastian is a soldier. There's no way he can possibly know that. I don't understand.

 

"Oh, a soldier!" Craig simpers, and Jack laughs, short and malicious.  Tommy hasn't said a word so far, but he watches me with eyes that are disgusted. Craig goes on, walking a few paces closer to me. I don't back away. "I was almost a soldier, you know Jimmy.." He says, and I fix my gaze on the window. He comes closer. "Do y'wanna get fucked by me too? You wanna suck my cock?"

 

"Fuck off Craig." I mutter, a reflex, my own hands in fists by my sides. 

 

He acts fast, and I barely even expect it. His hand comes up around my chin, forcing me back against the wall and almost lifting me off my feet with the sheer, crushing force of it. "Ain't no queers in this family." He hisses, close to my face, and I don't wince or flinch away. I hold his gaze with dead eyes, despite the heel of his hand crushing my windpipe. He goes on. "Fuckin' unnatural.. Dirty little.. fuckers.."

Things are starting to turn black around the edges. Jack watches with his arms folded, but Tommy steps forward, a hand extended.

"Craig," He says, but his voice sounds like it's underwater. "He'll be mad if-"

"Fuckin' abominations. No brother o' mine is made for sucking cock-"

"Put him down." 

 

My father's voice is cool and crisp, biting through the haze. Craig drops me immediately, and I crumple onto the carpet, my vision suddenly flooded with spots of colour, a loud rasp in my ears. The sound is me, I realise, trying to breathe. I see my mother's slippers, beside my father's polished shoes, and realise that they're both standing over me, looking down at me. I force myself to look up, hands still at my throat, and my mother's lips are pursed into a tight pout, her eyes wary. She's disgusted. My father just looks angry - but it isn't his usual rage. It's quietly restrained, and that terrifies me more. This is what he's like with his clients, with his jobs, just before he ends them. 

"Stand up." He says, in that same crisp tone. I clamber to my feet, using the wall to brace myself. He looks over me with a kind of disappointment and disgust that has shame curling in my chest. It's just love. Just love. I shouldn't feel ashamed. I love Sebastian. I love him with every inch of my warped little heart. I wish I could say I didn't give a fuck what my father said, but I've been raised to hang off his approval. Thrive from it.

 

The only sound in the room is the ticking of the mantle clock, and my family wait with baited breath to see what my father does. My gaze is on his shoes, looking every inch the shamed son. At long last, he nods at my face, indicating the cuts and bruises.

"..Did he do this to you?" He asks, voice emotionless.

"I bet 'e fuckin' did." Jack pipes up, stepping forwards again, as if the realisation has just hit him. "Local boys, my fuckin 'arse."

"Does 'e like it rough, Jim?" Craig asks, and I grimace, fury burning in my chest. My fingers curl into fists.

"Bet 'e thought, if 'e couldn't 'ave you, no one could." Jack goes on, near shouting now, and gesturing wildly. "I threatened 'im." He tells my father, and I frown, bemused. "I told 'im to keep away. I bet 'e did. I bet 'e did it." He jabs a thumb towards my face, and I'm shaking my head. I don't understand. Jack threatened Sebastian? Why didn't he tell me? Why wouldn't he tell me something like that? My mind is whirring again, but my father holds up a hand, silencing my brothers.

 

"Did he do this?" He repeats, calmly, and I shake my head.

"No," I say. "No, of course he didn't.."

 

My father nods once, slowly. He arches an eyebrow at me, his expression cool.

"But you admit that there is a 'him'."

Something cold plummets into my stomach. Of course. Of course, I just admitted it. I open and close my mouth, struggling with what to say - to deny it, or to plead for my life, for forgiveness. I don't want to. I shouldn't have to.

 

"I.." I try, but my words falter with a croak. 

 

"..Do you intend on shaming this family?" My father asks, with equal disinterest. But I can see the rage simmering behind his eyes. My gaze flicks half desperately to my mother, but her expression is now straight disgust, and I can feel a heat behind my eyes. They are ashamed of me. All of them. 

 

I tilt my chin, and meet my father's gaze. "..I love him." I say, and the words sound defiant, even as quiet as they are.

 

A beat of silence passes, and then several things happen at once. My mother slides a hand to her chest in her dismayed unease, and Craig snorts, Tommy wincing and Jack grimacing. My father simply pulls back a hand, and slaps me hard across the cheek. My face snaps to the side, and I keep my gaze on the floor, my skin hot and stinging. 

 

It's quiet for another moment, and then my father takes a step back. 

"You won't see that boy again." He says simply. I keep my eyes on the floor. He can't stop me. I'll just leave. I'll run away. We can run away together. I'll find a place to live and wait for Sebastian, or I'll let myself get conscripted, and join him at war.  "You will not bring dishonour on this family whilst you live under my roof."

"Then I'll move away." I spit, and my brothers all look at me, Craig taking a step forward to reprimand me for my backtalk. My father holds up a hand, and he stops. 

"You say this boy is a soldier." Father says, and Jack nods, though Tommy tugs at his arm. Jack speaks, regardless.

 

"A soldier. Yeah. Big fucker." 

 

My father turns away from me, walking the length of the room and coming to stop at the window.

 

"..I assume that he's on leave."

"Must be, yeah." Jack pipes up again, and I want to hit him, to pummel him into the floor. 

My father is quiet for a few moments, and takes off his glasses to polish them with a handkerchief. His words are just as nonchalant, crisp. "..You'll find that when he returns to the war, he's killed by shrapnel whilst in his barracks. It will be his third or fourth day upon his return to combat. His death will be fast. His family will be provided for. The pain will be nonexistent. Relief will come fast."

 

..What? 

My heart plummets in my chest, my eyes wide. He's going to kill Sebastian. He's going to have him killed when he's out there, when he's somewhere I can't get to him. No.. no, I.. 

"Father," I begin, taking a few panicked steps towards him, but Craig steps between us, and pushes me back hard. My father doesn't even turn around as he continues.

"..Unless, you don't desist." He slides his glasses back on, and then turns around at last, his arms folded across his chest. "In which case, his death will be long and excruciating. And you will be there to watch every second."

 

..That's it? That's my ultimatum? Sebastian's death, or Sebastian's death?

"You can't do this." I say, my voice loud, trying to push past Craig, but he slams his hands into my chest and sends me sprawling back against the wall. I come straight back, near screaming at my father, my mother looking away with her nose upturned. 

"You can't do this!  _I'm your son_ \- I'm your son-"

 

Craig nods to my brothers, and Jack and Tommy each grab one of my arms, though I'm still yelling at my father.

"You don't touch him! You don't fucking lay a hand-"

Craig grins as he punches me in the face, and I spit blood onto the carpet, my mother giving a sharp sigh and leaving the room, most likely heading off back to her brandy.

"Mother.." I try, my words pleading as I try and turn within their grasp. "Mother, please.. _Please_..-"

She pauses for a moment. But she doesn't turn back, doesn't even look at me. Jack hits me this time, straight to one of the bruises on my stomach, and against my better control, I cry aloud, seeing stars. 

My father comes to stand in front of me again.

"You'll propose to Maureen at the end of your next date. If she thinks it too soon, then you will propose a longer engagement. But you will secure the engagement."

He turns to walk away himself, leaving me to the mercy of my brothers. Craig knees me in the groin, and I half buckle, still screaming after the man.

"I'm your son - Please - don't.. _Father_!"

 

He stops at the door, and Jack tugs back my head by my hair. I'm seeing stars, but I manage to find the old man. So much has changed. Less than an hour ago, I was deliriously happy in Sebastian's arms.

"..Your brothers will stay with you from now on."

"..Please.. I'm your son..-" I say, my voice ragged and desperate. They're going to kill Sebastian. They're going to kill him. And I can't even warn him, not flanked by these three. He's going to die. It's all my fault.  ".. _Please_."

"..I have no queer sons." He says simply. And then he leaves.

 

 

\--

 


	13. 13

**SEBASTIAN**

 

I'm worried about Jim.

I barely slept a wink last night, after watching him get marched off towards home, and I berate myself for not going after them, for not pulling him free and making a run for it. True, we would probably have been dead before we'd even left the town, not to mention that I couldn't just leave Ma.. But I wish I'd done _something._  


Twice last night, I was up and dressed, making it to the kitchen before Ma stopped me and pulled me back. Both times, we drank hot tea and she coaxed me back to bed. There's nothing you can do, Sebastian. She said. You will make it worse, if you go storming over there demanding to see him.

 

It's four days until my leave ends, and four days quickly turn into three. I don't get to speak to him for a full 24 hours, and God it hurts. I spend that day sitting on the grassy hill behind his house, hidden and watching, aware that I must seem crazy.. But I need to know that they haven't hurt him. That they haven't killed him, even. The thoughts have been keeping me awake. He only leaves the house once, and Jack's hand seems glued to his shoulder until they get in the car. When they return, he's pushing him again, and lugging a bag of clanking tools. Jim's hands look red, but I can't see them that well from here. He doesn't look hurt. But he doesn't look happy.

 

I barely sleep again, and I'm back on the hill at dawn, just watching. I wonder why nobody's come knocking yet, why they haven't tried to kill me, or I haven't been cornered and beaten to a pulp by Jim's brothers. It seems insane that only last night, we were so happy. Kissing in the light of the oil lamp, so sure that we'd gotten away with it. I ache for that, now.

 

He comes out again, flanked by Tommy this time, and the both of them wear aprons. I feel a flutter of hope at that - they're going to the bakery. They're staying in the town. I can get to him, talk to him. It takes me a few long moments to realise that of course, I can't go.  I'll only get him in bigger trouble, or expose myself to the dangers of his family. I can't.

 

But Ma can.

 

\--

 

**JIM**

 I was given three kills yesterday, which is more than I've ever done in a day. Father is testing me, but I can no longer take pleasure in it like I used to. I can't help but think about Sebastian all the time, and I barely say a word to my brothers. I've given up trying to beg for his life, and now plan ways that I can get to him, speak to him, tell him to run.

 

The men are brought in, black bags taped over their heads and hands bound behind their backs. They thrash and whine against their bindings, but I kill quickly, methodically. Disinterestedly. I don't care for the artistry or the adrenaline, nor the money or my father's praise. I slit throats and break necks, seeing Sebastian, and feeling numb. I'm at the bakery today, and then tomorrow will be the same, Father says. He's upping my training until the marriage.

 

I can't go anywhere alone. Jack escorted me to the warehouse and back yesterday, and Tommy to the bakery today. Even when Maureen came to the door last night, Craig leaned on the wall behind me, half listening to our conversation and half screaming at Jean, who was sitting in the other room with my mother. Amongst the ruckus, we manage to make another date for tomorrow, though my stomach simmers with dread at the idea. And what my father said. Maureen wants to go to the church fair. So I suppose I'll be proposing, at the church fair.  By that time, it will have been 48 hours since I've seen Sebastian, and something inside me droops when I realise that I don't know when the next time will be. After all, if I don't 'desist', he'll be killed horrifically. I trust my father on that one. I've witnessed some pretty horrific deaths, myself.

 

My heart leaps and my chest aches every time someone comes into the bakery, but it's never him. He's smarter than that, I know. But I need to find him, need to tell him to get away. I can't just pray that he'll be fine back in France. My father is a very powerful man, and he gave me an exact time scale. Three or four days. He's certain that Sebastian will die. My Sebastian, torn from the world. Silly smile and twinkling eyes, and all.

 

He never should have met me.

 

I can't believe my luck when she comes into the shop. I glance up at the tinkling bell, and my mouth drops open, my heart beginning to stutter in my chest. Sebastian's Ma. She meets my gaze straight away, but she looks very nervous. She instantly goes about selecting bread, but she's frowning, sneaking looks at me. I watch her, desperate to know how he is, if he's keeping himself busy. If he misses me. I have to get a message to him.

"You should try this one." I say, pointing at a random loaf. "We make it with hot water. Lots of hot water." My tone is polite, and Tommy stands behind me rolling a cigarette. He's not listening. 

"Oh no," I carry on, when she nods, and fumbles for her ration tokens. "It's no  _trouble._ "

 

Her eyes widen infinitesimally at the word 'trouble' and she starts to speak quietly, commenting on a seeded loaf.

 

"A holiday?" I go on, pretending she's said something that she hasn't. "That sounds great. Fantastic to get out of town."

 

"Gon' smoke." Tommy grunts, heading into the back as I nod, and bring a loaf of bread atop the brown paper. The moment he disappears, I'm reaching over the counter, clasping Sebastian's Ma's hands desperately, the bread almost tipping onto the floor.

"Are you alright baby?" She asks me anxiously, her eyes concerned, panicked on mine. 

 

I shake my head, trying to dispel her words, dismissing them quickly. "I'm fine.. I'm fine. You need to get away. They're going to go after him." I squeeze her hands tight, but she frowns, leaning in.

"But he goes back to-"

"My father can get him there." I say, pleading. "They're going to get him there. Friendly fire, probably, and blamed on shrapnel." I swallow, my throat thick. She looks alarmed. "You need to go. You need to make him go with you. Please..  _please-_ "

 

The door pushes back open, and I lurch away from her as Tommy comes to retrieve his box of matches.

"Oh no," I say, my voice breathless and polite as I load the bread into a bag. "Absolutely no trouble." I hand it back over to her and smile, Tommy pausing to look at her.

"You have a nice trip now," I say, and wave, something catching in my throat. "All - all the best."

 

She hesitates for a moment, and then nods slowly, and turns to leave.

 

_Tell him I love him. And I'm sorry._

 

 

**SEBASTIAN**

 

When Ma gets back, she repeats everything that Jim said to her, and I'm shaking my head before she's even finished telling me that he wants us to get out of town. I won't. They wanna try and kill me, let them try. I won't run. 

"I can't leave him like this, Ma." I say, sitting down at the kitchen table. Ma sits down beside me, the bread bag between us. Both of us stare at it, as if it's the answer to our problems. "..I won't." 

 

"He just wants you to be safe, baby." She says softly, and puts her hands on mine. "His father has a lot of power. You are not safe."

"I'm not safe anywhere, Ma." I remind her quietly. "If I leave, I'm dead. If I stay and try and get to him, I'm dead. Let me send you to Aunt Lil.. Spend a few weeks in Devon, until I can sort something out."

She sighs, and shakes her head.

"..Please, Ma?" I say, and she reaches in, cupping my cheeks in her hands. 

 

"I'm not leaving my boy." She says, and I roll my eyes. She taps me on the nose. I should have expected as much.

 

"How did he look?" I ask her after a while, my words quiet. "Is he hurt?"

Ma frowns, and strokes my cheek. "I have never seen a boy look so sad." She says. "But no. Not hurt."

 

"I have to get him out of there, Ma."

"I know you do, baby."

"..I love him."

She pulls me into her arms. She smells like washing powder, and safety. 

 

The evening is long and morose. We listen to the wireless, but every song seems too cheerful, too bright. We have lamb sandwiches for dinner, and by ten o clock, Ma is asleep in her armchair with a newspaper spread out in her lap. I walk her to her bedroom, and then go to my own. But I don't lay down, or go to sleep.

 

When midnight comes, I'm walking through the town, the place eerily dark and quiet at this time. When I finally reach Jim's house, I take a moment to call myself insane, before I'm darting across the driveway and round the back of the building, climbing up the brickwork and a twined metal plant brace, to reach the room with the only light on in the house.

 

This is crazy. For all I know, this could be his parents' room. I rap on the glass anyway. What do I have to lose, now?

 

The curtain is tugged back, and Jim's eyes meet mine, before growing wide. He throws open the window, leaning across and down to me, his expression panicked and disbelieving.  
"What are you doing here? I can't let you in!"

"I know," I say, and then slide my fingers into his hair, and kiss him the best I can whilst clinging onto this metalwork for dear life. It's been too long. His kiss is sweet and addictive. He tastes like toothpaste. He pulls back, breathing hard.  
"..What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I don't know sweet.." I say, curling my fingers tighter around the metal. "Just, hanging around, you know?"

 

He looks at me like I'm crazy for a moment, and then laughs, a quiet sound that sounds a little more like a sob. His arms are suddenly clasping roughly around my shoulders, pulling me close. I close my eyes. I'm home. 

"You have to go." He says, muffled into my shoulder. "You have to take your Ma and go, somewhere new, somewhere across the country. Not back to France. If you go back to France-"

"I know." I say, and lean back, meeting his gaze. I give a shake of my head. "I know, and no, I'm not. I won't leave you here with them. You don't want this. You don't want.. Maureen."

"It doesn't matter what I want." Jim replies morosely, his hands still running over my cheeks, into my hair, across my shoulders - slowly, like he's cataloging me to memory. I don't say anything for a long moment, just thinking, just luxuriating in his touch. It comes to me, a snap decision.

"We'll run away."

"..What?"

"Tomorrow night, we'll run. Just take enough to keep us going. We'll take Ma with us, and she can get a factory job with her sister in Devon. Nothing but friends keeping us here, Jim. We can do this," I urge, and he blinks at me, a little alarmed.

"You're being crazy," He says, the pair of us still whispering. "..This is my family."

I raise my eyebrows, leaning in. He slides his arms over mine again, trying to help take some of the strain off. "Your family? You really believe that? That they love you, care about you?"

He thinks for a moment, and then shakes his head, eyes downcast. "I.. no. No. But it isn't that easy."

"It can be, sweet. I'll take care of things. Just trust me. I'll take care of things. Of you."

He frowns, his eyes flitting between mine, and after a moment we kiss again, slow and careful.

"..Tomorrow night." I say, and at last, he nods. His hands fist in my shirt, and he kisses me once more, rough and hard. "Same time," I say against his mouth, and our eyes meet. Tomorrow. He'll go with me tomorrow. We can get away from all of this. Find a new life.

 

"I love you." He says to me, and I nod, grin beginning on my lips.

"Course you do, sweet." I quip back. "..I'm fantastic."

He bats his hands at me, and I laugh quietly, and drop down back onto the drainpipe, and then onto the grass. He watches me, leaning out of the window, and I cup my hands and whisper loudly. "Love you too."

 

I wish I didn't have to go. But the longer I'm here, the more danger we're in. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, we'll fix things.

 

I turn away at last, and run for the garden fence, tugging myself up and over it. When I reach the hill, I see him wave, and smile to myself. He closes the window, and I run the rest of the way home. Tomorrow. I miss him already.

 

\--

 

In the next room along, Tommy Moriarty stands frozen by his window, eyes narrowed and a hand clamped over his mouth in shock.

 

\--

 

 

 


	14. 14

**JIM**

 

 

When I wake up, I sit up in bed for a few minutes, and just hold a hand to my mouth, grinning against my knuckles. We're going to leave together. We're going to find somewhere new, somewhere safe, and we'll stay there. We'll have his Ma, and we'll get jobs, and keep away from the conscription officers. Lay low.. build a new life in secret until the war's over. If I'm lucky, this whole town will be bombed to pieces, and I'll never have to worry about my father or his genetic henchmen darkening my doorway ever again.

 

This evening seems too far away. I have to get through a day of work first. I have to propose to Maureen, I realise, the thought crawling through my mind with dread, just another chore to tick off the list.

 

Downstairs, the house is already awake with activity, and after a while I get up and dress in my blacks. Father promised me more kills today. Maybe if I do well, I can postpone the engagement. Just enough to conveniently slip away without forcing a ring onto someone's finger. Maureen's finger. I shudder at the thought, and frown at myself in the mirror, flattening down my hair. My eyes wander to the window, where Sebastian clung last night to kiss me, to make his promises, and I nod with burgeoning resolve. I can get through one more day of this bullshit. 

 

Of course I can.

 

When I head downstairs, no one acknowledges me when I walk into the kitchen. It's been like that since my little 'queer' revelation, but I don't care. I quite like it, in fact. The cook serves me up a boiled egg and soldiers, with a cup of tea and a tall banana milkshake, and I nod at her in thanks. Jack watches me from across the table, eating slice after slice of bacon with his fingers, and I wonder what he's thinking. If I glance up at him, he sneers back, but he doesn't answer when I ask him 'what?'.  

 

I doubt he even considers me blood anymore. 

 

He'll be in the bakery soon and I guess Tommy must be joining him, because his shoes aren't by the door. Weird. I was sure he was supposed to be helping me today. That means I get Craig and my father, which makes me more disgruntled than ever. I finish breakfast just as the car pulls back into the drive, and the horn honks for me to come outside. I drain the last of my milkshake, and then head out, leaving Jack to tie his bakery apron with another sneer. 

 

Craig is in the driving seat, with Tommy in the other, and I frown as I get in the back.  
"Where's father?"

I get no answer, and sigh irritably. This disowned queer act is getting old pretty quickly, and I kick at Craig's chair in front for a few moments as he drives. He snaps disappointingly easily.

"He's fuckin' busy. You want me to pull over and cut you up, cocksucker?"

I hold up my hands in exasperated surrender, and grimace at the insult. I suppose he thinks it's imaginative. It seems everything Craig says to me nowadays is to do with sex, or specifically queer sex. We pull up outside the warehouse and head inside, and Craig continues at last, his voice echoing through the place.

"Maybe if you're good, you'll see 'im later. Think 'e's got a surprise for you."

 

His words are taunting, and something tells me that I'm not going to like the surprise. It'll be the gun that he intends to use to kill Sebastian, or an engagement ring for Maureen. Maybe both. Maybe he'll strangle him with a net scarf, and then give it to Maureen to use as a wedding veil.

 

My morbid thoughts are terrible, but they distract me I suppose. The three men are lined up in their black sacks, all whimpering and shouting behind strips of tape, hands bound behind my back. Craig presses a sharpened knife into my hand, and Tommy goes to sit on the tools table, though for once he's actually watching and not rolling himself a cigarette. 

 

The first man is dead within a few seconds. I told you. I don't mess around. I'm enjoying this so much less than I used to, and my mind is on what to pack for later. I want to take as many suits as possible, but I can hardly go on the run with a full suitcase. And books.. I want to take ten, twenty books. This is going to be exceedingly difficult.

"That soldier's cock steal your talent as well as your fuckin' virginity?" Craig spits, and I turn to look at him, indignant. What the fuck does he want from me?

"What?" I ask bluntly, "I slit his throat. He's fucking dead, isn't he?"

"If the client wanted to slit 'is throat, 'e'd 'ave done it 'imself." He answers gruffly, walking over and driving a sharpened chisel into the dead man's chest, again and again, to make it look as though we've properly worked him over.

"I don't know why it matters.." I mutter, "He's only going to die anyway."

"Course you don't." He spits back, and tosses down the chisel with a clatter. "Fuckin' queers, dumb as a sack o' fuckin' pig shit."

 

His insults are getting worse. 

"Fine." I hiss, and turn around. Tommy tosses me a rag for the knife and I clean it, before marching over to the second man, and taking the knife to the black bag, feeling the blade sink through the skin with a frenzied pace, the bag growing wet and his garbled screams growing louder and more pained, more agonised by the second. It doesn't reach me. 

 

I drop the knife down, and cut into each of his shoulders, into the fat of his stomach, and the numbing centre of a buttock. I kick him over onto his back and then climb atop him, and plunge the knife through to his heart, watching the blood spurt in a grisly fountain up and over onto the concrete. The man becomes motionless, and I stand, and give a flourish with the knife. I glower at Craig, and sense something like respect in Tommy's eyes for a moment.

"Better?" I wither, and Craig grunts, turning to go and stand at the warehouse door to smoke. "Hurry it up." He says, and I feel smug that he didn't have another insult for me. I realise with a slight thrill - and a pang - that this may be the last time I kill.  It's probably for the best. Like I say, it's lost it's appeal.

 

I turn the knife between my fingers, and step forwards, almost immediately cutting a slash through the final black bag. The man yells behind the taped mouth, and I lift my arm to bring the blade back down again, before Tommy calls me.

"Jim."

I hold out a hand, thinking that he's going to throw me the rag - that he's chiding me for not wiping off the knife before going for another kill. We're very clean. But when the rag doesn't come, I glance back at him, and his head is in his hands.

"..Tommy?" I prompt, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

"Don't." He says, and shakes his head, his expression suddenly morose and rather desperate. I blink at him, not understanding.

"Don't, what?" I ask, bemused. Really, I should realise then. Tommy hops down off the table, and holds his hands out in front of himself. 

"Just.. just..-" He says, encouraging me to wait. I don't know what the fuck he's doing. I know even less when he stalks to the door, carrying an axe with him, and then hits Craig over the head with the butt of the handle, sending him down sprawling into the dust outside.

"Tommy!" I yell, taking a few steps towards him, no fucking clue what's happening. "What the fuck?"

 

He slams the door and runs back over.

  
"I heard you last night." He says, and pushes me hard in the chest. "What the fuck were you thinking? Leaving? Seeing 'im again?"

His voice is angry, and my stomach tightens, cold and panicked.

"What did you do?" I ask him slowly, voice lined with rage. If he told father.. Sebastian might already be dead, I realise. My knees feel weak. I might be sick. My heart is pounding, and I can hear it loudly in the roaring of my ears.

"..I told Father that I'd seen him outside the house." 

 

It's a confirmation, and his voice is quiet, sheepish. I throw myself at him with an agonised scream. He takes the knife from my hand without really trying, and keeps me there as I try and pummel him, blocking my hits effectively. Rage is never the best ingredient for a fight. 

"Stop!" He says, angrily, and holds down both of my arms, pushing me back against the tool table, though I'm still thrashing like a feral dog. "I 'aven't - fucking -  _Jim_ -"

 

It's the sight of that axe by the door that finally brings me to my senses. Why knock out my brother just to gloat, I realise, and force my way from Tommy's grasp, taking a few steps away from him, breathing hard. I meet his gaze, and by way of explanation, Tommy simply points to the kneeling man, the front of his shirt drenched in his own blood, trickling out from beneath the black hood.

 

No. No.. I didn't almost kill.. I didn't just..

 

_Sebastian._

 

\--

**SEBASTIAN**

 

They got me early this morning, when I was out buying groceries with Ma's ration tokens. Jim's father, and Craig Moriarty. If they hadn't pulled a sack over my head, I might have had a chance in a fight, but they had, and I didn't. Their fists came at me blind, my face, my chest, and my shoes were taken. I was tossed into a car or a van, only a slight comfort coming from the fact that it smelled a little like Jim.

 

This is it, I kept thinking. This is how I die. Not a noble death. Not throwing myself on a bomb, or shot in the line of duty. Not with my ten grandchildren around me. This, right here. At the hands of two bigots, drowning in my own blood, not able to say goodbye to my Jim. 

 

They drove. The doors slammed. I was dragged out, forced onto my knees. I didn't make a sound, though I could hear two others around me, crying out and whimpering. I hear doors slam again and echo this time, and my hands tighten on my bonds behind my back. Someone steps closer, and the man beside me makes a choked sound, before I hear the sound of him hitting the concrete. My heart races a mile a minute.

 

And then I hear him. Jim. Speaking to his brother.

 

_That soldier's cock steal your talent as well as your fuckin' virginity?_

_What? I slit his throat. He's fucking dead, isn't he?_

_  
If the client wanted to slit 'is throat, 'e'd 'ave done it 'imself._

 

_I don't know why it matters..He's only going to die anyway_

_Course you don't. Fuckin' queers, dumb as a sack o' fuckin' pig shit._

 

_Fine._

 

From a little further along, another man begins to howl; terrible, guttural sounds that are wet and animalistic. And then silence. Utter silence. My heart is slamming against my ribs.

 

_Better?_

_Hurry it up._

 

I hear his footsteps come back across the concrete, and call out against the tape across my mouth, the muffled shout trying to warn him, trying to tell him that it's me. Jesus, Jim.. God - no..

 

My main concern right now is that I know he'll hate himself after, know his brothers will crowd around my body and cheer while Jim looks on horrified, frozen in his terror and shame. It'll kill him. 

 

Everything is bright, blooming into hot, sharp pain as the blade slices through the sack and across my face, drawing a line across my eyebrow and cheek. I howl, pained, into the tape, and see stars, the cut agonised and throbbing, already seeping blood down my face and neck, dripping from my chin. I hear voices again, but I can't concentrate on what they're saying, feeling a little dizzy. I have to stay conscious. I have to try and survive this for him. For my Jim.

 

I think about my promises last night, and my heart aches. I'm sorry, I think, and then the sack is tugged away, my senses assaulted by the bright, buzzing electrical light of the warehouse, and the air on my skin, wet with blood. I blink at him, still breathing with harsh, ragged breaths behind the tape, and he falls to his knees, his bottom lip turning tight down and quivering.

 

"..Sebastian.." He says, and he sounds broken, like he might cry. I try and keep it together. I just nod, and swallow, still mute behind my tape, unable to tear my hands from the bindings. His brother stands behind him, refusing to look at us, though his eyes remain on the floor. He's not stopping us, either. He must have told Jim. Stopped him from killing me.

 

Maybe more than one Moriarty has a heart.

 

"I'm so.. I'm so.. I didn't know.." He's saying, and I just shake my head, tilting it to try and find his gaze again, mortified and fixed on the floor. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake.." Tommy mutters, and paces over, ripping the tape unceremoniously from my mouth. He bends down behind me, beginning to unbind my hands.

"I know," I whisper, "I know you didn't. It's fine," I say, and laugh quietly, the sound a touch bitter, though I press my mouth to his all the same. Tommy makes a sound of disgust, but I'm able to pull my hands free, and slide them around Jim, pulling him close. As I do so, I realise that his mouth and one side of his face are blood red, from where I've touched him. I must be bleeding bad.

 

It'll scar.

 

"Look.." Jim says, and reaches up to hover his fingers over it, still looking deeply unhappy, his voice pitiful and ashamed as it cracks. "..Look what I.. you're.. your.."

"Could've been worse, sweet." I say simply, and pull him to me again. If his brother hadn't stopped him...

"Thank you." I say, over Jim's shoulder to Tommy.

  
"Don't thank me." He says, back at the tool table, and presses his hands flat against it unhappily. "You wouldn't be 'ere if it weren't for me. And now you're free 'cause of me. We're square."

"..Square." I agree, as Jim pulls a tissue from his pocket and tries to dab at the skin of my cheek, and then back to my eyebrow. It could have been worse, I think. It could have been that whole eye. I could have been half blind. 

A slam of a car door makes all three of us jump, and Jim looks panickedly back at Tommy, who swears. 

"Lay down." Jim orders, his voice soft but authoritative, trembling yet somehow firm. I do as he says, and he tugs the bag back over my head. I feel something heavy fall over my back, slightly rough, and I think it might be a jacket from one of the other men. The warehouse door opens with a creak, but everything is dark, and I can only hear it.

 

Footsteps sound, clacking slowly over the concrete, and then a voice echoes. 

"..happened to Craig?"

Tommy Moriarty speaks. "One of 'em got free, didn't 'e? Smashed 'im in the 'ead with an axe end. 'e's alright. Just knocked out."

 

There's no answer, but the footsteps get closer. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, my chest, against the concrete floor. I stay motionless with the other dead men.

"..Father." Jim greets, and then the footsteps are beside me, and come to a stop.

"Moran.." His father's voice says, and for a moment, I think that he knows I'm not dead. My heart leaps into my throat, but he continues, after Jim's innocent "..What?"

"..Moran. I think we had a Moran, once.. A gambler, a few years ago. Not a particularly common name in these parts."

 

What? I think, something tightening in my chest. What is he saying? Two.. two generations. Not..?

 

"..Moran.." Jim repeats, a false shock filtering his voice. "Not.." He stutters. "..Not.."

I hear his footsteps hurry close over the concrete, hear a sack tugged off someone's head - but it isn't mine. He must be using one of the other bodies, just to be safe.

"Sebastian!" Jim shrieks, and wails. "No!" The sound is a scream, and I hear him fall to the floor, pounding at what sounds like the body.

"Oh.." His father drawls. "..Yes. A shame, that."

 

My heart rockets as his footsteps tap steadily back over to the tool table, and he drags something back with him, something metal that snags across the concrete floor with a heavy sound. Jim is sobbing loudly, really selling it - and I suppose that he doesn't really need to imagine. If Tommy hadn't stopped what was happening, this would be reality right now. Me dead on this floor, with Jim's father gloating over my body, and Jim sobbing his heart out over having driven his knife through my chest.

 

A horrific sound meets my ears. It's the sound of exertion, and then metal hitting flesh. And after the flesh, concrete. Jim howls again, sounding inconsolable now, and I imagine that his father has speared something through the body. Just to make sure. He pulls the instrument free and drops it onto the floor with a clattering clang.

 

"Two generations of the Moran family, dead at your hand." His father continues. Cold floods through my chest. I thought that was what he might be saying. "The first at sixteen. The second at nineteen. My, my.."

Sixteen. Three years ago. My father died three years ago. And my father was indeed a gambler. A very bad one. No.. No, I..

He sounds amused, and I have to fight the urge to curl my fingers into fists, to leap up and pummel the man, to attack him with every tool from that table. My Da. He killed my Da. Jim's father killed him. No.. no, he ordered his death.

It was Jim. Jim killed him.

 

Jim's fake sobbing becomes a little more hesitant, obviously realising what he too is being told. Rage burns in my chest. 

 

They killed my Da. Jim killed him. Most likely in the worst way I could imagine. I wonder if he recognised my name when I told him at the dancehall. If he's known all this time. If he sat and ate dinner with me and my Ma, knowing what he'd done. Who he'd taken from us. I squeeze my eyes closed beneath the hood.

"Sort out the bodies." Jim's father says crisply. "And take Jim home for a bath."

"Got it." Tommy says, and his footsteps join his father's, walking him to the door. "Craig..?"

"I'll take him back with me."

 

The door closes, and I get up, tearing the bag from my head and tossing it onto the floor. Blood drips steadily down my cheek, and I pace towards the other door on the opposite side, my fists clenched.

"Sebastian!" 

 

Jim is clambering to his feet, and running after me. I reach the door and slam it shut behind me, heading back to town. 

"Sebastian, please-"

I pretend not to hear him as I head back through the industrial estate. 

 

He killed him.

 

\--

 


	15. 15

**JIM**

 

 

 

I stand outside the warehouse, my hands fisting panickedly in my hair as I watch Sebastian get further and further away, and if I look down at the ground, I can see drops of red. I did that to him. 

 

I've scarred him. And I'm not just talking about his face. 

 

I didn't.. I didn't even realise. I know that I should have. Perhaps it was why I was so drawn to the name 'Moran', but the kill was three years ago, and there have been hundreds since. I irrevocably changed his life, tore somebody out of it. Made Sebastian into the person he is today. Damaged him.. no doubt. To make things even more disrespectful, even worse, I barely even remember killing that man. It was one of my first, so Father helped. He explained to me, as was his custom when we were younger, that the man was a gambler, and owed money to several names that I don't remember now. That he couldn't pay his debts.  I never even saw his face. I can't remember if I slit his throat or went for the heart, but he wore the black sack the whole time. I'll never know if he had the same twinkling eyes as Sebastian.

 

He'd definitely have had the same hatred for my family.

"Jim!" 

 

Tommy pokes his head out of the warehouse door, and ushers me inside urgently, obviously not giving a damn about what's just happened. He's done his bit. He saved me from killing my beau, even if I was hurried enough to swipe a knife across his face, and even if Tommy helped put him there in the first place. I turn slowly, a little numb, and drag a hand over my eyes. I still owe him.

My heart beats madly in my chest, and I look back out over the grass. He's gone. Sebastian has gone. I have to find him.. to explain.. though I don't know what I can say. It's inexcusable.. And all those conversations about how I don't have any regrets.. About how I enjoy it..

 

"We 'ave to take the bodies. There's supposed to be three, so I told Father we'd do 'em."

We have to deliver the bodies back to their families. It's honourable, Father always said. Every man deserves honour in death. I think he's a walking contradiction. Killing men with black hoods over their faces is not honourable. And delivering them back to their families is just taking the incineration costs away from us.

  
I nod, walking slowly back into the warehouse, though my heart aches. Somewhere inside me, hope still flickers that he'll appear tonight, at my window. That we'll still run away together, Sebastian and I.

 

..I killed his father.

 

-

 

**SEBASTIAN**

 

"Sebastian!" 

 

Ma cries my name as I step through the door, her face a mask of horror at the blood dripping down my face.

"..I'm fine, Ma.." I say quietly, but she's pushing me into a seat at the table and filling the basin with water, fetching the cloth like she did for Jim. I glance down and see the blood coating my shirt, and feel it, still wet on my face. I must have looked a state, walking through the neighbourhood. I couldn't walk back through town. Not now I'm supposed to be dead.

 

"..So much blood.." Ma whines worriedly, her hands trembling slightly as she dabs at my cheek and eyebrow, the water in the basin immediately turning pink. "..Can you see? Your eye, Sebastian?"

I nod, and flick my gaze to her. "Didn't touch it." She's so worried, she hasn't even asked what's happened yet, and as I tell her about my kidnapping, her eyes get wider and the water becomes more crimson. I can feel her pulse when her wrist brushes my skin, fast in her panic. I explain as best I can, about Jim's business, about his brothers. His father.

 

"..He would have killed me, Ma. If his brother didn't tell him."

 

"Poor baby.. Poor babies.." Ma says quietly, morose and holding a hand to her mouth. She looks like she might cry, and it reminds me of Jim, kneeling in front of me, shaking hands hovering around the cut. "But you _are_ okay." She says, with a touch of relief. "My boy is alive." She winces, looking at the cut, and then dabs at it again. It'll definitely scar. "Jim? Is he okay?"

 

I purse my lips, and Ma pauses, the cloth held aloft in her hand and concern in her face.

"Sebastian?"

"..I don't think I can see him any more, Ma."

 

I take her hands in mine, the wet cloth dripping between us. My eyes find the seat across the table, the seat that used to be his. Ma finds my gaze, bemused and unhappy, and I take a breath.

 

\--

 

**JIM**

 

We leave the two bodies on their respective front lawns, just tossing them over the hedges for the families to find. I wonder if Sebastian's Da was left like this, and the thought makes me feel sick. Of course he was. Afterwards, we go home, and Tommy and I don't speak a word in the car. It's unspoken that none of this will ever get back to my Father. Tommy has put himself in the firing line for me, and I'll be grateful for the rest of my life.

 

Even if Sebastian doesn't want anything to do with me.

 

I'm on my way into the bathroom to wash away the blood, when my mother appears from an upstairs bedroom. She walks towards me slowly, and after a moment of standing before me a little awkwardly, draws me into her arms. I remain still, not sure what to do, still clutching my towel. My mother is the least sentimental person I know.

"I know today has been difficult for you." She says quietly at last, when she pulls back. She looks at me with pity, and strokes her fingers down my cheek. I realise that she thinks I killed Sebastian. I drop my gaze. "One day," She goes on, "You'll see that it was right."

"..Right." I repeat, hollow. So close. I was so close to killing him. If I'd chosen him first, or acted rashly.. "How can it ever be right?"

 

"Our choices are never easy." My mother says simply, gently, and then presses a box into my hands. A ring box. Like that's what I want to be thinking about right now, proposing to fucking Maureen. She leans forwards again, and presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'm very proud of you." She says, and I feel a slight pang of revulsion, and guilt. My eyes find the carpet, and I close my fingers around the ring box, dropping it to my side. She walks away.

 

I lock myself in the bathroom.

 

\--

 

When I emerge around an hour later,  having been unable to summon the strength or desire to climb from the tub, my family are all rushing around to get dressed for the Church fair. It's not the sort of thing we frequent, as a rule, but they all heard my father's decree. On the next date. Maureen and I.

They all want to see me slide that ring onto her finger, and take her as my own. The same day as I presumably killed my queer lover. I suppose I need to lay on the grief a little thicker. It shouldn't be too difficult. I just need to think about Sebastian's expression, hard and unforgiving as he paced away from me, blood dripping from his chin. My eyes are wet in seconds.

I pad morosely back to the bedroom, and get dressed. I don't choose anything spectacular. An older suit, with a black waistcoat. The ring box in my top pocket. My face is still cut and bruised from my beating, but I smooth my hair into place, and suppose that I don't look too bad. I feel like hell.

 At long last, Jack comes to fetch me, and I join my family out in the front yard to walk over to the green. The green with the thatch of trees, near where Sebastian and I lay that night, looking up at the stars. Dancing to the wireless. My throat feels thick, and my suit itchy under the afternoon sun. The ring box is like a dead weight in my pocket.

 Jack slaps me on the back, and he leaves his hand there for a moment, speaking when I glance at him.

"Was the right thing to do." He says gruffly, as if he's trying to comfort me. "I know it's 'ard. But it was right.."

He _is_  trying to comfort me, I realise. I purse my lips together flat, and just nod solemnly, and he runs off ahead to catch up to Craig and Jean. I try and look at Tommy, but he's rolling a cigarette and won't catch my eye. 

 Maureen and her family are waiting at the gate to the green, and my parents greet hers with booming guffaws, shaken hands and compliments on dresses. They walk ahead, and my mother glances back at me pointedly until I take Maureen's hand. 

 "Wonderful day for a fair!" She exclaims, and my brothers glance back at the sound of her voice. She's so bloody loud.

"Yes." I agree simply, glum. She hangs off my arm, and I steer us away from my family, not willing to propose surrounded by them. Music plays from a phonograph set up on the grass, and a few couples dance around it, laughing and turning under arms. There are a lot of soldiers around. It's the last day of leave, I realise. Tomorrow, Sebastian will be heading back to France.

 My father already thinks him dead. So he should be safe there.

 And happier, without me.

 "Cheer up!"

 Maureen leans into me, and I force a smile. She steers me past the stalls and we look at the homemade soaps, sample a taster pot of pea soup, and I buy her a handful of raffle tickets. She shrieks and laughs when she wins a dressmakers hamper, and carries the basket around with us. We've already been here for forty five minutes, and my time is quickly getting away from me. I occasionally catch the eye of my mother or father, or Maureen's mother and father, and they smile indulgently. Knowingly. Panic knots in my chest.

 "Oh, look at those!"

Our next stop is a cake stall, but I freeze almost before we get there. Standing pride of place behind a tall Victoria Sponge cake dotted with strawberries, is Sebastian's Ma. She's manning the stall, wearing her factory pinafore inside out, most likely to save the mess, and give the illusion of a fresh outfit. The woman in front of her moves, and then she sees me, and the smile slips from her face. It's replaced with a kind of pity, and she frowns at me, clasping her hands nervously at her chest.

"I'd like to try some of that.." Maureen announces, and pulls me closer. I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out, and before I know it, we're standing at the table, the other boisterous woman - Annie, I think - pulling Maureen in to try a few tasters.

"Would you like to try some cake?" Sebastian's Ma asks me politely, though her words are a little shaky, and I think her eyes are wet. She still has her hands clasped in front of her. I feel terrible. I feel awful. My expression crumples, and I have to swallow two or three times to stop my throat feeling so thick. I killed her husband. Sebastian's father. I killed him, just a child myself.

 "I.." I try, not sure what to say, or how I can possibly make this better. "..That would be lovely. Thank you."

She cuts off a much bigger piece than I was expecting, and hands it to me on a paper plate.

"My.. late husband's recipe." She stays, and my bite of cake seems to stick in my mouth, my eyes finding hers. I'm sorry, I try and say with my gaze. I'm so, so sorry. 

"Oh." I say aloud instead, and swallow the bite. "..It's very.. it's very good." My words aren't much louder than a squeak, and I cough after a moment, clapping a hand to my mouth. "Sorry-" I say, "Didn't.. chew."

She steps closer to the table, and with hesitant hands, reaches over to take mine, holding them as I clutch the plate. Her eyes are still wet, but she gives me a small smile.

"I know." She says quietly. "You are sorry. You were just a boy, baby."

"I.."

Ma's words were hushed, but Maureen notices her holding my hands and leans over, laughing loudly and breaking the spell. My own eyes are wet, and I hurriedly blink it away, turning as Ma pulls back her hands. 

 

"..He would forgive you." She says quietly, and something plummets into my stomach. I nod, trying to find her gaze again. She truly is the most spectacular lady I've ever met. Sebastian is lucky to have her for a mother. To.. to forgive.. that.. It's unthinkable. Impossible..

"Who?" Maureen asks, too loudly, her nose wrinkled in confusion, and I clear my throat, dragging my gaze reluctantly from Ma's.

"Her.. her husband. I said I didn't much like the.. the recipe." I blather, still trying to blink away the wetness in my eyes.

 Maureen picks up the slab of cake and takes a bite, chewing and swallowing, before nodding appreciatively.

"Mm.. I think you're right." She says, and nudges me, before looking back to Ma. "Not much of a cook, is he, your old man?" She laughs, and Ma flushes an embarrassed pink, her smile fading as her eyes find the grass. I feel anger burn in my chest.

"I loved it, actually." I spit at Maureen, and she turns to look at me, crumbs on her lips.

"But you just said-"

"Forget what I said."

Ma beams again, the smile small, and Maureen lays the plate back on the table, looking at me like I'm mad. I set down five shillings on the table, even though she protests, and then drag Maureen away. I glance back at her, and reach up, drawing a line across my eye, from eyebrow to cheek. Asking about Sebastian. She nods with a small, sad smile. He's alright. Sebastian is okay.

 

**SEBASTIAN**

Both Ma and I decided that it was too dangerous for me to go to the Church fair, but after an hour or so sitting at home, I can't do it any more. I doff an old cap, and try and pull it down to keep the fresh scar in shadow, heading out in a pair of Da's trousers and a khaki shirt.

 I sneak up on Ma at her cake stall, and Annie tries to box me around the ears for scaring her, though I laugh and sit down on the wooden chair at the back, eyeing their display. They're doing well. I can see a few shillings in the money tin. My smile fades almost as quickly as it came, my insides hollow. I don't.. I don't feel right, anymore.

 I've been trying not to think about Jim all afternoon. Half of me wants to forget the whole thing, especially when Ma repeated what she said about bad things, and that they don't make us bad people. And she reminds me that he was only sixteen at the time, and under his father's command.

 But Jesus - then I think of my own Da.. Big and smiley, and doffing his cap cheekily to any woman to cross our path, just waiting for Ma to huff at him. And then swinging her around in his arms until she was laughing.. The two of them, dancing at midnight in our kitchen to the wireless, myself as a child in the doorway, rubbing at bleary eyes until they asked me to come join them. Da, turning Ma under his arm to the music. Presenting her with wildflowers that he'd picked from the green on her way out of the factory..

Teaching me to fish, and tie my shoelaces. To tell jokes, and to make Ma laugh, even after he'd long gone. 

I still miss him. And Jim took that from me, from both of us. No matter who told him to do it. 

 

"He came over." Ma whispers to me, and I raise my eyebrows.

"No trouble?"

"He was with her." She raises her eyebrows. "That girl. Gave her a real telling off he did, about slagging my cake." She puffs up, proud.

I give a half smile. "I'm not surprised, Ma. Your cakes are delicious."

She puts a hand to my cheek and beams for a moment, but then the smile fades, and her eyes are serious.   
"He is very sorry." She says. "And I have made my peace. He was just a boy." 

 I sigh, and frown at her, unhappy. 

 "You have to make your own peace." She tells me, pressing a plate of cake into my hands, and I sit down and eat it a little disgruntledly. She ghosts her fingers over the cut on my face. "He does love you. Very much. I see it."

"Ma," I give an incredulous, and sad sigh, and meet her gaze. "How can you possibly know that?"

"..I  _see_  it." She insists, and I roll my eyes. Annie returns, and we have to be quiet. After a few minutes, I move to sit behind the cloth of the stall, safer in case of passing members of the Moriarty family. I think over what Ma has said, and can't help but smile at the image of Jim shouting at Maureen over my Ma's cake.

 

In the end, I resolve that I have to go and talk to him. I just have to. I haven't given him any sort of chance to explain, to even say a word to me after we were trying to make sure that his father didn't discover me alive, and stab me there and then. I was too angry. Too horrified. The shock was crippling.

 I kiss Ma on the cheek, and she tells me to be careful as I go, flitting around the edges of the stalls. I see him after a while, walking hand in hand with Maureen, the two of them standing by a drinks stall. I get closer, crossing between stall after stall, and leaning against the fabric, just waiting. As I dart past, I see his mother and father, drinking plastic cups of lemonade. See Craig, holding his wife's arm in a way that looks painful, and hissing angry words at her. Tommy Moriarty has his arm around a girl at the raffle table, and Jack stands and smokes, attracting the venomous eyes of a pregnant young woman standing nearby. All accounted for. 

 I finally reach the drinks stall, and I can hear Maureen babble on endlessly. I just have to reach out, tug Jim back when she isn't concentrating on him, and the job's a good one. I.. I don't want to think that I'm going to forgive him. 

 I already know that I am. I wouldn't be my mother's son if I didn't know that. I know she's right, deep down. 

 Maureen cuts off, and I'm about to take my chance - when I hear her scream.

 My eyes wide, I duck back, and peer through a cut in the  fabric too, the two men behind the lemonade stand cheering and clapping their hands. Jim is on bended knee in front of the stall, Maureen staring down at him with a wide grin, and her hands clasped at her chest. 

 I don't hear him ask the question. I.. 

 

I hear the clapping as I stagger away, glance back to see Maureen leap into Jim's arms, and see him catch her, grinning at the people standing around them. I don't understand. I just.. What.. what could possess him to do something like that?

 

Did he think that I'd left him? That I didn't want him anymore?

 

I sink down at the bottom of a hill after running for a few long minutes, and cradle my head in my hands, unable to think. My heart is wrenching, tight and cold, in my stomach, and I keep seeing it. Jim, grinning. Maureen, shrieking. The crowd, clapping and cheering.

 

He's getting married. He wanted this. He's moving on without me. 

 

And I go back to France tomorrow. New.. new starts all round, I guess.

 

Well. It can't come too soon.

 

 

\--

 


	16. 16

**JIM**

 

It's about eight hours since I proposed to Maureen, and I don't feel like an engaged man. I sit in my bedroom, utterly exhausted after the day I've had. It's dark outside now, and the last of the wellwishers - mostly people that followed us home from the fair after my father's booming invitation for tea and cakes - have gone home. I was forced to parade a shrieking Maureen around on my arm for most of the evening, letting her drag me around to friends and neighbours to show off the ring, whilst my parents looked on proudly from the corner.

 

I just couldn't stop thinking about Sebastian. Worrying that Ma might have seen me propose, or one of his neighbours, and that it'll get back to him before I have a chance to speak with him. I should have told him what the plan was but somehow, in the midst of all the blood and shame, I haven't quite found the right moment.

 

My bag sits beside me on the bed, ready packed and crammed to the bursting zip with my clothes and books. I packed as carefully as I could, but I still haven't had enough room for everything. I've taken about seven hundred pounds from the tins downstairs aswell, laying around for when father's clients want change from their payments. He won't notice until I'm long gone.

 

If I'm going, that is.

 

It's past midnight, and there's no sign of Sebastian. It's a silent night, and I keep the window wide open, waiting for the sounds of his arrival. But none seem to come. I remember his expression as he stalked away from me, bloodsoaked and angry, upset by the news that his Ma has unbelievably forgiven me for. I remember her hands on mine over the cake stall, and my throat feels thick. I don't deserve the kindness. Perhaps.. Perhaps he isn't coming at all. 

 

My heart stutters and drops at the thought, and I swallow - just as a knock comes on my bedroom door. For a moment, crazily, I think it's him. That he's somehow gotten in here, sneaked his way up to my room - but it's just Tommy, who steps in after a moment and then closes the door behind himself.

"..'asn't come, then." He says, and my eyes find the carpet. I shake my head, and I feel my cheeks burn hot, feeling a little embarrassed that my brother has to see me like this. I must look pathetic, waiting by my window with my bag packed.

 

Tommy walks over to stand by the window, looking out.   
"..You took out 'is father." He says, and I roll my eyes, falling back onto the bed. 

"I know." I say, like he's pointing out the obvious.

 

"You should say sorry."

"What?"

Tommy shrugs. "Right thing to do, ain't it? You killed 'is father. You say sorry."

I stare dumbly at him for a moment, about to say that it's a ridiculous idea, that I appreciate the help but that no simply apology can undo what I've done, or bring back the man that I stole from Sebastian. But.. well. It's a start, isn't it?

"..Yeah.." I say, sitting back up, resolve creeping into my expression. "I should. I should.. say sorry.."

 

Standing up, I push my packed bag under the bed. I pull out a dusty box from beneath and tuck it under my arm, before I walk to the window. Tommy anticipates what I'm about to try and holds the tops of my arms as I lower myself down against the metal trellis, keeping the box held close.

"Be - careful-" He mutters, and I roll my eyes - and seconds later hop down onto the grass, winding myself when I underestimate the drop. "Prat!" Tommy calls, and  I stick up my middle finger as I dart over the driveway, hearing him laugh as I go. 

 

If Sebastian won't come to me, then I'll damn well go to Sebastian. To Hell with it all.

 

\--

 

**SEBASTIAN**

 

I can't sleep. 

 

I can't help but think about how much has changed in a day. Only last night, we were making plans to run away together, and we should be on a night bus right now, on the way to our new future. But instead, he's getting married. He's getting married, and I'm going back to France tomorrow to face the war, and I'll never bloody see him again. I tighten my arms around my chest as I lay, unhappy. 

 

We had Victoria Spongecake for dinner, Ma having spent her last tokens on having something to show at the fair, and having half left over at the end. She saw the spectacle too, though she's been trying to convince me for the rest of the night that he doesn't mean it - that his father made him propose, that he doesn't like the girl. I admit, I never saw it coming. But why wouldn't he tell me? You have to plan for something like that. Set a date, get a ring.. 

 

It seems too much between us lately is going unsaid. Jack. My father. His proposal. I close my eyes, and press my face into the pillow, before wincing at the drag across my cut, and turning onto my back. If I concentrate hard, I can still hear the faint strains of the wireless, drifting over the green. Our first date.

 

Moonlight Serenade.

 

What I wouldn't give to go back, now. I love the bones of him, but I want him to be happy. Maybe.. Maybe Maureen just grew on him. Maybe he decided that it was simpler, to secure a life with her, than to try one with me. I pushed him away, after all. Ran away from him after the warehouse. 

 

Wait a minute. I'm not imagining it.

 

It  _is_ Moonlight Serenade.. No.. No, now it's the opening strains of 'Sally' by Gracie Fields.. I sit bolt upright in bed, confused, and head for the door of my bedroom, before I realise that it's closer to the back of the house. I poke my head out of the window, leaning on the ledge.

 

Sure enough, Jim leans against the wall of the alley behind the house, the wireless at his feet, the songs quiet and echoing in the close space. He looks up when I appear, and my mouth drops open a little, not expecting to see him here. I'm only wearing a vest and long boxer shorts, and my skin begins to goosepimple in the cold evening air, looking at him with a shock that soon fades to sad resignation. 

"..What are you doing here, sweet?" I ask quietly, and he leans down to turn off the music, before lifting the wireless into his arms. 

"..Can I come in?" He asks timidly, and I lean back, pushing the window up further, and reaching down to help pull him in by his arms. We both land, sprawled on my bed, and I catch his wireless before it hits the floor and smashes. We both hurry to right ourselves, and then sit awkwardly on the edge of the bed, Jim still in his suit from this afternoon. My eyes flick to his hand, though I know that it isn't him that wears the ring.

 

We're quiet for a long moment. It's almost awkward.

 

"Sebastian.." Jim begins, the word slow and measured. It all goes to pot when he turns to look at me, the words rushing out a mile a minute. "I'm so sorry about your - about your father.. I don't.. I was only.. I hardly even.. I know 'sorry' doesn't even begin to cover it, and I know you'll most likely hate me until my dying day, but I honestly.. I.." His hands are cold as they slide over mine, and his eyes search mine a little desperately. "I was just a kid. I had no idea.. It's no excuse.. I'm sorry. I'm so.. so sorry.."

I go quiet for a moment or two, and then nod, mulling over his words. I know all of this. It confirms what Ma has been telling me all day, and I understand. I do.

"I know you are, sweet." I say quietly, and tug him closer, resting my face in my hair and letting my arms slide around his shoulders. His arms are tight at my waist, and he smells like home, and soon I'm squeezing my eyes shut, finding it hard to believe that I ever considered not seeing him again. But I.. have my reasons. I force myself to pull back after a moment, and I run my fingers over his cheek, unhappy.

"..You really want to marry her?" I ask morosely, and he blinks at me for a moment, as if I'm not making any sense.

"..What?" He breathes, before hurriedly shaking his head, his expression a mask of disgust and surprise. "No.. God, no! No, Sebastian. I do not want to bloody marry - Maureen?" He says, incredulously, and my mouth quirks at the corner, just a shadow of a smile. "..Fucking Maureen?! Are you serious?"

"You proposed to her." I remind him, a little hurt, and he laughs exasperatedly, though stops and swallows when he sees my expression.

"My father. I should have told you. I.. we've had.. bigger things to.." He looks away, unhappy, and I nod. I suppose I understand. Relief settles in my stomach, and Jim's hands run over my bare arms, shaking his head. "..Can't believe.. you thought I loved her, or something?"

I frown, and give a sheepish shrug. "..I don't know what I thought. That you were moving on, I suppose."

"Never." He says simply. He reaches up, running his fingers down my face, over the scar though he's careful not to touch it. His mouth becomes an unhappy little pucker, and I wrap my fingers around his wrist, shaking my head.

"Don't." I say softly. "It wasn't your fault, sweet. Should have been worse."

Jim's eyes grow haunted for a moment. "..I'd never have been able to live with myself." He breathes. I pull him back against me, and hold his head against my shoulder, his arms tight around my waist, sliding up to press his hands to my back. The embrace is rough and fierce. We thought we'd lost each other. It.. it can all still happen, I realise. Everything we planned, everything we wanted. We can still go. 

 

I pull back to tell him so, but he kisses me, and my God - I moan quietly against his mouth, conscious that Ma is asleep in the next room, and he tangles his fingers in my hair, pushing me back down onto my bed. My hands come to rest at his waist, and he pulls back for a moment to tug off his jacket, before his mouth is hard on mine again. He starts rocking himself against me, and I swear, breathless into his mouth. 

His hands slide down to the vest I wore to bed, and I lift up my arms, letting him tug it off me. My own fingers fumble with the buttons of his waistcoat, our tongues sliding wetly together as I push the garment from his shoulders, and start on the shirt.   
"Sebastian.." He moans against my mouth, and it makes me shudder, a staggered groan pulled from me in return when his hands slide beneath the boxer shorts, though I push him off a moment later to tug away his shirt and drag his trousers from his ankles, leaving us in the same state of undress.

"Give.. give me a minute." I say, my voice raggedly breathless, and jump up, creeping out of my room and into the kitchen. On the side, under a dish, I find the leftover vegetable shortening from the lamb pie Ma made a day or so ago and grimace - but it's the best I can do. And it's all natural, so it won't..

 

I shake the thought from my head, and carry the dish back into the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind me. The sight has me throb in my shorts; Jim, laying in just his underwear and tangled in my bedsheets, his lips red and hair mussed from the kissing.

"..What's..?" He begins, before realisation hits him, and he claps a hand to his mouth, starting to laugh with giggles that are either nervous or embarrassed, and I shrug, setting the dish on the bedside table. 

"Best I can do." I say, "If.. you know, if.. we want to.."

I try and look away, and Jim pulls me back onto the bed, back over him, his mouth finding mine and his legs twining around my waist. "..I want to." He breathes, before sliding his mouth around to my ear to whisper a mocking ". _.Grease me up."_

We both crack up laughing, but I have to shush us, clapping a hand over his mouth as we both shake, absolutely bloody crying at the thought of using vegetable shortening as.. as..

 

Well, it beats the alternative.

 

I'm still grinning when he slides down my shorts, though it quickly fades from my lips, a lump in my throat. I've never done this before, and neither has he. I slip my hands beneath the elastic of his pants, and slide them from him, before tossing them on the bedroom floor. I reach over, and sink my fingers into the dish, rubbing them together until they become slick. Jim watches them, his hands at my naked waist, his mouth resting at my shoulder, and I can feel his pulse against my own skin, fluttering like a trapped bird.

 

I bring my hand back and behind him, pulling him closer to me. He starts kissing me when I slip greased fingers between the cleft of his arse, sinking down a little on the bed as he opens his knees further - and he makes a quiet gasp into my mouth when I slip the first inside, his body warm and impossibly tight. I close my eyes, and he shudders, closing his teeth around my bottom lip as I sink my finger in a little further, trying not to hurt him.   
"..Okay?"  
"..It's.. strange.."

After a few minutes, I can move my hand, and I stay gentle with him, just pressing up inside and then moving back down. I reach back for more shortening and regrease the next finger, and Jim grips my shoulders as I slide the second beside the first, a quietly strangled sound catching in his throat. I take it even slower this time, hardly moving for minutes on end, and when I do, using the smallest movements I can, and slowly graduating to full twists, and scissoring him open. We're both sweating, and Jim is trembling, his hands clammy and clawing at my back, the two of us still kneeling together on the bed. 

 

Finally, I add my third finger, liberally greased, and he gives a quietly keening groan, the sound going straight to my crotch.  
".. _Jim_.. Sweet.." I murmur breathlessly against his skin, and he nods. He's still here with me, still alright, and the thought is a relief. I take my time once more, slowly turning my fingers, opening and closing them, bringing them out and then slowly taking them back. 

 

"Sebastian," He says at last, and looks up at me. I've never seen him look so undone; his eyes are a little glassy, his pupils blown wide and dark, and his hair is mussed and hanging half over his forehead. His fingernails dig hard into my skin, and he bears back on my hand, his lips parted as he meets my gaze. "..Now," He says, the word an aching whisper, and I nod, swallowing. 

 

I press my mouth to his, and then pull back my hand, shuddering at the quiet little moan I get in return. With an uncertain hand, I coat myself in more grease, and give myself a few strokes, careful not to get carried away lest I end things before they've begun.. But with Jim in my bed, and looking like that.. 

 

 I'm trying to work out how to do this, before Jim is pushing me back against the wall by my shoulders, and climbing into my lap. 

"Jesus.." I say, my voice ragged, and he takes me in hand, bearing down onto me until I'm breaching the thick ring of muscle, until I'm engulfed in a tight heat and dazedly finding his eyes, hungry on mine.  ".. _Jim._." I groan, and I watch the discomfort flit over his face, watch him hover there for a few moments, with my hands at his thighs and that body taking me in, hot inch by hot inch. 

"Sweet..-" I say, but then my words are lost in a strangled moan as he sinks down more, taking me in to the hilt, though his fingernails on my back dig into the skin so hard that I feel blood begin to well there. I don't care. I don't care about anything else right now, nothing except Jim, and that _feeling._  


  
"..It hurts-" He says, voice breathless and a little strained, and I nod, my hands stroking over his skin, my mouth finding his, soft and reassuring.

"We can stop," I promise against his lips, "Any-"

"Move." He says in return, and my mouth quirks into a smile, though I don't oblige him for another few minutes, just letting him get used to the breach, letting myself get used to it too, so.. damned overwhelming. I've never felt anything like it.

 

When I finally do, Jim's shifts so that his legs are around my back, my shoulders back against the wall and my beau seated in my lap. My hands rest on his hips, and my mouth falls open as I begin to rock up and into him, slow and steady. Jim cries out quietly with each rut, and I have to bite my lips to keep myself from groaning, too loudly in the middle of the night in a sleeping house.

 

I watch Jim's face for any kind of pain, but it seems to have ebbed, his eyes finding mine as we move together, and his arms around my neck. I could look at him forever. For the rest of my life. Just.. to watch him like this.. 

"..You're.. you're mine.." I manage, though my voice is a rough whisper, fractured by each rock of my hips. Jim's eyes flutter closed, and he nods. My hands slide up his body, and then back to his hips. "Not.. hers. Not..- you're..  _mine_.. sweet."

 

"..Yours," Jim agrees breathlessly, "..Always.." 

He begins to bear down on me a little harder, and so I pick up the pace infinitesimally, rolling my hips a little more harshly, and moving a little faster. The effect is fantastic - Jim tips back his head and moans, fingers clawing again at my back, and I slip a hand between us and begin stroking him, not sure how long I'll be able to last. 

 

He leans forwards and rests his face on my shoulder as we move together, my bed beginning to creak as the pace gets quicker, a fast, sweaty mess of squeaking springs and gasped moans, and the slap on slap of skin joins the symphony. 

 

"Jim.." I gasp, "..Jim.. I'm..-"  The tightening coil of heat in my abdomen snaps, and I come with a low groan, just as he sinks his teeth into the slope of my shoulder, hard enough to draw blood. I keep moving, rutting weakly, keep that hand on him, and within seconds he's spilling into my fingers, gasping and groaning against the throbbing teeth marks on my skin.

 

It's bliss.

 

For a few seconds, it's unadulterated, perfect bliss, and it's just the two of us. Entwined and unthreatened, perfect and raw and natural. We're no longer virgins, I think, as I come back to myself, helping Jim off me with a whimper, and holding him in my arms instead, his back against my chest. We both breathe hard, our chests heaving, and he covers my arm around his stomach with both of his own, and then lifts my fingertips to his lips to kiss. 

"..That.." I try, but the words won't come. "..that was.."

"I love you." He says simply, dazedly, and that seems to sum it up just fine.

 

\--

 

**JIM**

 

It was the most intense thing that I've ever felt in my life, and I think that if I could, I'd do it again right away. And again and again, right until the morning breaks, and the sunlight drifts through Sebastian's window.

 

But we aren't allowed that luxury.

 

After a long half hour of laying together, Sebastian's arms around my waist, or my hands in his hair, drawing him to me and kissing him, or speaking against each other's mouths, silly things that make us both smile - I have to go. I have an early shift at the bakery tomorrow, and then an engagement party at four, with Maureen's family.

 

"That's perfect." Sebastian says, as he gets dressed, determined to walk me home. I get dressed a little more gingerly, and he kisses me apologetically. All over; my neck, my chest, my arse cheek - though I bat him away, laughing quietly and complaining that he's making it more difficult. 

"..Perfect?" I ask, still smiling as he takes my hand, and leads me from his bedroom. We tiptoe silently through the house, my wireless under my arm. He nods, and answers me when we're outside.

"I'm not supposed to leave for the barracks until 5. You show up at Maureen's, and apologise - say you left something at home. You come and find me, I'll grab Ma and we'll go - I'll have her pack in the morning. By the time anyone realises that we're gone, we'll be an hour out of town, sweet."

I think for a moment as we walk, our hands swinging between us. It's a warm early morning, and very pleasant out. I feel on top of the world, a warmth humming in my belly, and smile. "Alright." I agree, and then sheepishly. "I already have a bag packed."

We kiss just around the corner from my house, and we kiss for a long time. Our arms twine around each other's waists, necks, our mouths fervent and wanting, but at long last we break away, breathless and laughing. I eye the bite mark on his shoulder, just poking out of his shirt, and smile.

"Until tomorrow, then."

 

"Don't be late."

 

\--

 


	17. 17

**SEBASTIAN**

I wake up with sunlight streaming across my bed, and a smile on my face. I hug the sheets a little tighter to myself, able to smell Jim on them if I inhale deeply enough, and a flutter runs through my chest at the thought. At the memory of last night. It was.. just.. phenomenal. I've never felt so close to a person.

 

My eyes fall onto the dish of vegetable shortening on the bedside, and I wonder if he aches this morning, a crimson blush settling on my cheeks. I chuckle to myself, and then push myself out of bed, pulling some trousers on and then walking into the kitchen, just able to tip the last of the vegetable shortening into the bin before Ma appears, humming a tune as she bustles into the kitchen.

"Morning," I say, keeping my eyes on the table, a smile on my face that I can't quite bite back. Ma shoots me a knowing look, and I feel heat creep into my cheeks, clearing my throat to try and keep some kind of nonchalance.

"What?"

Ma doesn't answer at first, still humming as she loads stale bread into the toaster, and turning on the wireless so that Cab Calloway drifts across the kitchen. She turns away from me, bobbing to the music, getting the jam from the fridge. Even from here, I can see that there's a smile on her face.

 

"What?" I say again, laughing, and she turns, a hand on her hip. She gestures at me avidly with the jam pot as she speaks, sounding amused.

"Do you think I'm daft, Sebastian Moran?"

"Daft?" I blink at her in mock innocence, and hold up my hands. "No, Ma. Why-"

"I might not sleep light, baby but it would take a better woman to sleep through that!"

God, my face must be dark as beetroot. I open and close my mouth, trying to think of some excuse, to deny it somehow.. I'm not even sure what she heard. Me, or Jim. Or the bed. Or me showing him out, in the early hours. Ma gives a hoot of laughter, and ruffles my hair.

"Look at you! So embarrassed!"

" _Ma._ " I hide my sheepish grin behind a hand, and she tuts, walking past to tap at my shoulder. I suck in a quiet breath, wondering why it stings until I glance at the teeth marks on the skin. Well, if Ma hadn't heard us, she'd definitely have seen that.

 

Ma just shrugs her shoulders and gives me a conspiratorial smile, loading toast onto a plate and placing it on the table between us.

"I was young once.." She tells me, and I pull a face, earning myself a bat around the ears, laughing at her. "When your father and I were just married-"

"Please - really, don't want-"

"..Absolutely, like rabbits we were!"

" _MA."_  


 

\--

 

When we finish breakfast, I give in to her fussing and let her clean the cut again, sitting at the table with the basin and cloth. It stings when she applies some kind of antiseptic, and I wince, before clearing my throat again.

"Listen, Ma."

"Mmm..?"

"..We haven't seen Aunt Lil in years." 

 

She wrings out the cloth in the basin, and then brings it back to dab at my cheek, nodding distractedly. I sigh, and decide to cut the crap. After all, we need this. Jim and I need this. Need her with us. I'm not sure I can go without her, but I can't stay here with him. I'm supposed to be leaving for France later today.

 

"Ma, Jim and I have to leave town." The words are gentle, and I put my hands on her arms. She frowns, and tilts her head. "We were thinking Devon. You could get a job at Aunt Lil's place, and we could lay low until the war ends. Keep away from his family. Out of sight.." I frown and look at her, worried that she'll say no. That I'll have to leave her, or stay, and lose Jim.

 

A few moments pass, and then she sets down the cloth in the basin and stands up. 

"Well then!" She says, and the hint of a hopeful smile cracks over my lips. "I suppose I'd better go and pack."

 

\--

**JIM**

 

The morning has been a fantastic one. I woke up in good spirits, though my body ached - key areas in particular - and the palms of my hands were bruised and grazed from climbing back up the trellis early this morning.. but I feel happy. There's a warmth in my stomach that refuses to die down, knowledge of something shared, something no one can take away from us, and it gets me through an awkward breakfast of wedding plans with my mother and father. 

 

I 'um' and 'ah' my way through the discussion, still trying to act as griefstricken as I should, whilst maintaining a resigned acceptance to hide the happiness glowing in my chest. My bag is still packed upstairs, and when I finally leave for the bakery, I take it with me, walking with it close to the ground to try and hide it behind the fences. I don't realise til I'm halfway down the road that I've left my parents house for the last time. In only a few hours, Sebastian, his Ma and I will hop onto a bus, and then most likely another, and another - end up halfway across the country, somewhere we can be safe.

 

I feel excited. Overwhelmed.

 

Happy.

 

\--

 

The shift at the bakery drags. Each time I look at the wall clock, barely a minute has gone by, and after a while, Jack slaps me around the head. 

"What you fuckin' waitin' for? Pissin' me off."

I scowl at him, and walk through to the back, pulling the old tablecloth further around my bag to keep it hidden. After here, I'll go to Maureen's, and then make my excuses. And then it'll be a race to get out of town - to escape my family, who'll no doubt give chase. The thought is frightening, but exciting at the same time. We'll get away. We'll make it.

 

I pad back inside, and the next customer leaves empty-handed. We've barely sold a handful of loaves all day, and none of the other goods. Jack disappears now and again, helping my father and Craig with odd things, though it's Tommy's kill today. I try and keep myself busy. I wipe down the counters, clean the glass front, even go outside and make a job of the front window. I pace behind the counter, and hold conversations with customers that I'd usually never even nod at, just desperate to kill time. And then at last, four O clock comes. 

 

To my chagrin, Jack merely shrugs off his apron and leaves, leaving me to close up shop and lock all the doors and windows by myself, though I bag up some of the bread, and resolve to leave it outside the church as I pass. Too many hungry families not to, and the church is in the town centre. I suppose a perk of Jack leaving is easy access to my bag, and I lug it onto my shoulder, finally running out into the street - into freedom. I pull on my coat and gloves, a little too warm but unable to fit them into my bag, and grin, almost skipping around the damned corner.

 

After I leave the loaves at the church, I turn around to head to Corland Road - and almost walk straight into Sebastian, who ducks around the corner and drags me with him.

"What are you doing?" I ask him, panickedly. "You're supposed to be hiding! My family think-"

"I know, sweet." He says, and slides his hand into my hair. My panic ebbs a little, and my eyes find his, remembering last night with a heat that seeps into my chest, and settles on my cheeks. A slow smile begins on his lips in return. He holds up a paper bag.  "Bought us some snacks for the journey. You really gonna leave all that bread at the church?"

I roll my eyes and run back, grabbing a bagged loaf and bringing it back to us. Sebastian is wearing his full khaki uniform - no doubt to blend in with the other soldiers still walking the town, but I can't help but run my hand over the rough material, marveling at how much has changed since I saw him in it last. Sitting down beside me at the dance hall, the cocky soldier with that lopsided grin, calling me 'sweet' and teasing me about finding a wife. We're walking back down his road, but I pull him to a stop behind a tall hedge, and push him back against the foliage, slipping gloved hands to his neck. Fuck Maureen's. We'll go now. I can't be bothered with the facade anymore.

"Wha-" He starts, but I press my lips to his, and his hands circle my back, his mouth opening warm against mine. I wish I'd kissed him that first night. I wish I'd danced with him. So much wasted time.

"We've got the rest of our lives, sweet.." He murmurs, amused, and I nod, giving a half-smile. He's right. We have, now.

 

 I clear my throat, and he laughs quietly at my breathlessness, dragging me up the path to his house by the hand.

"Ma's been packing," He explains, "I told her this morning."

 

I nod, excitement flooding my veins, feeling suddenly like this is all so very real. We're actually going. We're running, together.

 

Sebastian pushes open the door, and a lot of things happen at once.

 

\--

 

" _Hold them_."

 

The voice is instant and cold, and I recognise it immediately, my eyes settling on my father just as a pair of hands grab my arms and force them behind my back, the hands powdery. With flour, I note distractedly. Jack. 

 

Craig stands beside my father, the two of them behind the table - behind the chair in which Ma sits, shaking and clutching at a little paper knapsack. She was making us sandwiches, I realise with a sinking heart. I glance at Sebastian, and his expression is wild with alarm, his own arms held behind his back by two men - two of my father's men, both large and ugly. 

 

The door is slammed shut behind us. Ma sniffs, her eyes terrified on her son, and my own find my father, dark and hateful. My heart slams against my ribs, and my mind whirs. I told no one about this plan - not even Tommy, though he isn't here anyway. No one could know. It's all happened so fast. Only seconds ago we were standing outside kissing. 

 

When I look at Sebastian again, his expression is anxious, his eyes scared on his Ma, sitting before my father and Craig, both of whom could undoubtedly kill her in a moment. Kill me, too. And Sebastian himself. We're outnumbered badly, and they have leverage. This.. this is bad.

 

A few beats of silence pass, and I can hear my blood roaring in my ears, feel Jack's fingernails digging into my arms.

 

"So," My father drawls at last, his voice amused. "This is the queer soldier that poisoned my son."

 

His words are so calm, so matter-of-fact. He could be asking Sebastian for the time. They're wrong, I want to scream. Those words are wrong. He didn't poison me. I was already this way - I just hadn't seen it. You brought me into the world this way. My gaze flits to Sebastian and he grits his teeth, straining against the two men holding him.

"We met yesterday." He spits. "When you pulled a sack over my head."

My father gives a laugh, short and jovial and wags a finger. "Oh yes! So we did. So we did.." He nods, and my mouth is dry, unable to take it. I don't know what he's going  to do. But if the merciful option was to let Sebastian be slaughtered at war..

 

"Tommy." I spit, my own teeth bared as I look at the pair of them, Craig grinning madly in anticipation. I try and wrench my arms from Jack's grasp, but he holds fast. I feel stiff in my coat. "Was this Tommy?"

Surprise flits across my father's face, and he looks confused for a moment, before he smiles again at me, rather knowingly - though there's a quiet rage simmering behind those eyes that has never failed to frighten me since I was a child.  
 _"No,_ " He says, dragging out the word amusedly. "I actually came to ensure that Mrs. Moran here received the body, lest Tommy and his.. regrettable heart.. gift you some kind of.." He waves a hand. "Queer lovers burial."

 

Ma sniffs again, but sits straight, her chin up defiantly, trying not to show weakness in front of them. Sebastian's eyes fall to her again, and she reaches out a hand. "..Sebastian..-"  She sounds apologetic. Of course she is. But none of this is her fault. 

My father continues, his smile sharklike as he bends down to speak to Ma.

"Unfortunately, the crocodile tears just couldn't come quickly enough, could they, Mrs. Moran?" He looks back at me, and something inside me turns to ice. I narrow my eyes at him, and he continues. "Not to mention, the bloodied cloths all over the place, and a sock that looked suspiciously too expensive for this house."

"A sock." Sebastian repeats with heavy sarcasm, still scowling at my father. "You're here because of a  _sock._ "

 

Craig pipes up, slamming a fist into the table and making it rattle, Ma jumping at the action. "We knew you couldn't be fuckin' dead, is why we're 'ere."

 

My father nods morosely, taking a knife from his pocket and making a show of polishing it with the handkerchief from his suit pocket. My heart leaps into my throat at the sight, eyes suddenly focusing on that blade, and only that blade. Jack's hands tighten on me, and my father continues, in his same dangerously deceiving tone of disinterest.

"..Yes." He muses. "It seems there's more than one disappointment in this room."

 

His eyes flick to me again, and all that tension builds up in my chest. It's not fair. It's not fair - we were so close. So close to freedom, and a new life, and escaping all of this.. fucking.. horse shit! My eyes fall to that knife, and I hold back the furious scream that threatens to escape me, instead breathing hard, and trying to think. He's most definitely going to kill my Sebastian. Probably his mother too. Probably all the damned neighbours. Drag me home to marry my irritation of a fiance in front of two hundred of Croydon's best citizens.

 

_No. Kill me. You'd have to kill me long before I made it down that aisle._

 

"Father," I try, desperate to reason. It seems my only hope. Anger won't help. Running only seems to make him more determined to catch us. "..We're going away. The two of us. Far away. You could let us go - tell them I died, tell them I died honourably.." My voice is shaking, but firm in tone, and I'm trying not to plead. "No one would have to know. You'd never see me again."

"I'd know." He says simply, holding that blade up level, and examining it with his eyes. His words are as nonchalant as ever, and I have to force myself not to scream at him. 

"Okay." I say, taking a breath. "Okay. Then let Sebastian and his mother go."

"No, Jim." Sebastian says, but I don't look at him. I fix my gaze on my father. 

 

"Let them go, and take me back. Do what you like. I don't care."

Jack's hands have loosened on me a little. Of course I care. I won't marry Maureen. I'll throw myself from the white cliffs of Dover before I marry Maureen. But if it can get Sebastian and his Ma to safety.. away from the danger that seems to follow my name. 

 

And if not, then at least my question is stalling him for long enough for Sebastian to notice the knife block on the counter to his right. His Ma has been glancing at it for a few minutes now, and trying to get his attention. I noticed the slight point of her fingers, when she reached out for him. Clever thing.

 

Not that it'll save us, I think. But it might save one of us. And that's the best chance that we have right now.

 

My heart sinks again at the realisation. Only minutes ago, we had life. A bright future. Happiness. Torn away by an old man and his thug lapdogs. 

 

"You'll marry Maureen." My father repeats, a little doubtfully. I don't think he was expecting this much. I'm a little shocked by the consideration. I'm getting more than I thought I would. Perhaps he really is loathe to murder one of his sons. Queer or not.

 

"I'll marry her." I agree quickly, still straining against Jack's grasp, and after a moment, he drops his hands, uncertain. With a glance at Sebastian, I notice his eyes on the knife block, and thank my bloody stars. He's going to make a break for it, too. "I'll put babes in her," I promise, "Just let them go, father."

We fall into silence. The clock ticks on the wall, and Ma sniffs every so often, still clutching that little knapsack of sandwiches. I want to put my arms around her. 

"Please.." I say again, my voice a little broken. Perhaps.. he's actually considering it. Perhaps.. I can get them out of here. Safe. 

 

The spell is broken when, the action quicker than I'd thought possible, my father slides the knife across Ma's throat.

 

\--

  
**SEBASTIAN**

It happens in slow motion. He lowers the knife, and I dive for the block, for the six wooden kitchen knives standing on the windowsill. The men behind me don't expect the sudden action, and lurch after me, but I turn, forcing a knife apiece through their chests, until blood is arcing up and out of them, coating me, coating the kitchen tile. 

 

By the time I turn, it's already too late. 

 

" _NO,_ " I roar, and half fall towards her, Ma's eyes wide and fearful, her hands pressed to her throat as crimson seeps and spurts from behind her fingers, the shock pulling her from the chair. I take her in my arms, and I don't care. I don't care that next to me, Jim has broken free of his brother, and has driven a knife through his stomach. I don't care that Craig Moriarty leans over Jack Moriarty, wailing in anguish as I do. I don't care that Jim's father is motionless on the floor with his own throat cut, Jim still forcing the knife further into his skin, near decapitating the dead old man on our kitchen floor.

 

On Ma's kitchen floor. 

 

She shouldn't have to die here. 

 

I take in the scene with a muffled roaring in my ears and bleary eyes, before I look down at Ma in my arms, only one hand at her throat now, and her other, bloodied and stroking over my cheek. Even in her dying moments, she's comforting me. 

"Ma," I'm saying, my voice thick with the tears clouding my eyes, my hands shaking. "Ma, please.. please don't go. Please don't leave.."

She gives me a faint smile, and I shake my head hard, hot tears escaping my eyelids and dripping down onto her pinafore.

"Ma... I need you, Ma.."

Jim lands beside us, bloodied to the elbows and tearing off his coat, passing it to me, trying to press it to Ma's throat, to stop the blood from pouring. She bats it away feebly, and I frown.

"Ma-" I try, but she shakes her head, closing her eyes at the effort of doing so. Jim sets the coat on the floor, and his hands hover over her throat, his voice pained and terrified, loud and panicking.

"Hospital - we can take her to hospital - Ma.. Come on, you have to  _get up_ -"

"Jim," I say weakly, but he doesn't listen.

"-Try and lift yourself up, I'll-"

_"Jim._ " I say again, raising my voice, a ragged shout. " _She's dying. She's gone."_

The words send an agonised pang through me, and I could collapse right then, shaking as silent sobs wrack me. She's dying. Ma's dying. Jim doesn't seem to want to understand. 

 

Ma reaches up, and brings those cold, bloodied fingers to his cheek.

"..No, baby.." She says, her words the faintest, rasping whisper. They're kind, accompanied by another of those smiles, dreamy and small. I clutch her tighter. Jim shakes his head, and his eyes are wet too.

"Let me take you to hospital." He pleads, his voice small, and she shakes her head, and swallows, wincing again at the pain.

 

She's going. I can see it. Her skin is becoming blotchy and pale, her eyes are unfocused, and that hand slips from Jim's cheek to close around my fingers. I hold her close.

"I'm sorry, Ma.." I say, my voice a broken keen. "I'm.. 

"Be happy, babies.." She manages, so quietly that I'm just reading her lips, only able to hear the slight rasp of her voice. "..Bad.. things.. do not.."  

 

That's all I hear, and she closes her eyes, Jim leaning close for a moment.

"..Make us bad people." He finishes, his own voice a numb whisper, and Ma smiles dazedly with her eyes closed, pleased that her sentence has been finished. That the words have been said. 

 

_Be happy, babies._

 

Her fingers are wet and cold on mine, and all at once, they loosen.

"..Ma.." I say, and she doesn't move. 

 

Frightened, I try again. "..Ma.." 

 

I give her a little shake, but she won't move, has grown heavy in my arms, her skin cold and pale. Jim puts a hand on my shoulder.

 

She's gone.

 

\--

 


	18. 18

**JIM**

The sound that he makes when he realises seems to drill right to my core, and I flinch away, tears still coursing down my face. We're sitting in blood on the kitchen floor, and Sebastian holds his Ma to his chest, rocking with her. I've tuned out everything else - the rest of my family and their blood seeping across the kitchen floor; or at least, Jack and my father. Craig holds our brother, rocking with him as Sebastian does, and if I cared enough to pay attention, I'd hear that his sobs were louder than even Sebastian's. 

 

I don't care. I feel like all the energy has left my body. I cuddle closer, my arm still around Sebastian's shoulders though I won't try and move him yet, won't try and pry her away from him. I wonder if the neighbours have heard the furor, if they've called the police. If we'll be arrested soon, the officers unsure who killed who. We're all coated in one another's blood. Five people lay dead, and my father was a very respected man.

 

I'll have to try and think logically for the two of us, I know. Sebastian is in no state right now to plead his innocence, and he's not going to run. He won't run without her. He won't leave her here, beside the man that killed her. I eye my father's throat with emotionless eyes. I've almost sawed him in two. I watched the light drain from his eyes. And you know what? In his last few seconds, I think I might have seen a glimmer of approval. Of respect.

 

I'm so caught up in my own mind.. In squeezing Sebastian's shoulder, and stroking Ma's hair back from her face, that I don't see him. I don't see him coming. Craig stands from our brother's body, and the blind grief is replaced all at once by a kind of violent, white-hot rage that sends him roaring across the kitchen towards me with two knives. It gives me only a second to flinch, to try and shield Sebastian, to accept my fate - before my brother's blood sprays across the tile, landing warm and flecked across my skin.

 

I blink, horrorstruck as he crumples onto the floor beside Ma, a hole through his forehead. Tommy stands in the doorway with a gun, taking in the scene with wide eyes. 

  
"..Tommy.." I try, and my voice cracks. I can see his heart breaking. They didn't always get on, but he and Jack were close. Almost twins. He grew up with Craig in a way that I was a few years too young to understand. And my father.. my father..

 

Tommy closes his eyes, screws them tightly shut, and he swallows hard. He's willing it all to go away, I can see. Sebastian is oblivious, still clutching his Ma to himself, barely having looked up when Craig slumped down beside us. 

 

"Go." Tommy says at long last, and his eyes are cold, his mouth drawn into a pucker that threatens tears at any moment. He's saved us. Craig would have killed us both. Saved us again. But he can't look at me right now, and I understand why. "..Leave."

"..But the bodies.." I say quietly, tentatively. He closes his eyes again, like he can't bear to hear my voice.

"I'll take care of it. Just _go._ "

 

I turn to Sebastian, my voice gentle, already dreading how this is going to go. I feel numb with shock. I'm covered in blood. I'm not sure I'll ever see him smile again. "..Sebastian.."

"Annie." He says, his head snapping up. "I have to tell Annie."

I frown, and rub his back. "Annie can wait. The police'll be here.. even faster, with the gunshot. We'll-"

"I can't leave her." He meets my gaze, and his eyes are haunted, pleading. It nearly breaks me. I slip a hand to his cheek. 

 

"You're not leaving her." I promise, "But she wouldn't want this. We'll go to jail if we stay."

My father told me once that in America, they've started collecting the fingerprints at crime scenes, identifying who killed a man just by a hand, swiping blood across the door upon his exit. It's amazing. And yet right now, I'm glad we don't have anything like that here. We've both killed in this kitchen.

 

If anything, Sebastian just seems to grip his Ma tighter, and I close my fingers around his own. 

"I can't, sweet." He says, his words broken, his lips shaking. I squeeze his hands.

"Please," I whisper. "Please. I need you. I need you with me. She wouldn't.. she wouldn't want this."

"Jim." Tommy says, losing patience. I nod, and Sebastian allows me to pull him to his feet, though not before he's rested Ma's head on his army jacket, folded on the floor. I glance at my brother, and he nods covertly. He'll have to get rid of that before the police arrive. It can't be long now. Tommy's already bending to pick up one of the two henchmen, to carry them out to my father's car out back. 

 

To think, if we'd come in through the back, we might have seen it. Avoided all this.

 

I can't dwell on it right now.

 

Sebastian and I run.

 

\--

**SEBASTIAN**

 

 Time passes. Even if you think it doesn't. Even if you think it shouldn't.

 

There shouldn't be a world without Ma. It shouldn't be reality that I'll never get to see her leave for work again, waddling down the path with a gaggle of her friends. Never bob around the kitchen to the wireless with her again, or have her hug me so hard when I come back from leave, that I think she might break my ribs. 

 

There's an aching hole inside me, and I feel numb almost all of the time. There's a period of a few minutes each morning, when I can wake up with Jim in my arms and not feel broken, not feel robbed.. And then it hits me, and it's like being knocked down by a damned bus. 

 

Time passes. The world keeps turning. 

 

He helps. 

 

 

**JIM**

 

I'm trying to help. It's been a week, though in some ways it feels like years, or on the other hand, no time at all. I brought Sebastian to the only place that I could think of - the bomb shelter behind the dance hall. I had my packed bag with me, and he had his own in his bedroom. 

 

We have our things. We have everything we need to start a new life, but we're still so connected to this damned town. Sebastian won't go without his Ma. He planned it so carefully. And I can't go home. 

 

We didn't hear anything for a few days, at first. We ate steadily through the canned food in the shelter, snuggled down in the blankets at night, and took walks in the thicket of trees out back a few times a day. Sebastian didn't say a whole lot, but neither did I. We just held each other. I lost my father, and two brothers. He lost his Ma. Somehow, his loss still seems worse. I feel it burn in my chest, too. Remember her, dabbing at my bruising skin with a cloth. 

 

We sit at night, and hold each other. Sebastian tells me about his Ma, about when she was younger, about how happy she was with his father, though the gambling put a strain on the family. I tell him about my own family, but it's more of the same. We've been - or.. we were - a killing squad from my birth, though I was only vaguely aware until I was thirteen. I worry about how my mother will cope without my father and with two dead sons. She's wronged me, but I suppose she doesn't deserve that. The crippling sense of loss that I somehow lack.

 

After a few days, I ventured out to find more food, managing to take a couple of stale loaves and some canned stuff from the church drive. I heard two old women talking about what had happened, and froze behind a fence to listen. 

"..Such a terrible thing. Didn't I always say that he was a wrong'un?"

I think that they're talking about Sebastian for a moment, but after a few minutes, they go on to talk about my father's corruption. Craig, then. And Jack. 

 

"..Poor Bette was just sitting in her kitchen.."

Is that the story? I think. The one that Tommy constructed? Pulled Craig into position.. put a knife in his hands.. Put a gun in Jack's hands. Span something about a struggle, a crazed older brother, a tragic end for all three? There are no police patrolling the village. It must be. 

 

I wonder if he mopped up Ma's blood. I realise that was her name. 'Bette'. I never knew it. Bette Moran.

 

"The boy gets the house, didn't you hear? On compassionate leave with the forces."

"I heard, but blimey.. I don't think I'd want it!"

"Not a soul knows where he is. Poor thing.."

Sebastian gets the house. It makes sense. Next of Kin. And.. compassionate leave? That's better. That's better news for us, if it's true. If Tommy's really sorted it out well.. I'll owe him forever. Sebastian, home from war. A house - though the women are right. He can't possibly want all those memories.. But if he sells it.. 

 

I jump as an angry voice interrupts the two gossipers, and I think it might be 'Annie', though I've only seen her once in passing.

"Didn't no one tell you it's rude to speak ill of the dead?" She demands loudly and the women immediately bluster, shocked.

"We weren't - we were just saying-"

"Don't!"

She bustles off, and the women quickly disperse, leaving me crouched with the food. I should hurry back to the shelter, but I don't. Instead I head back to my house. I need to find out if Tommy really has sorted it all out. If Sebastian and I can come out of hiding. No one answers the door for a long time, and I wonder where my mother is. It isn't like her not to be drinking in the back room, but then, I don't really want to see her. Not if Tommy's told her the truth.

 

I don't have to wait to find out - the door creaks open, and my brother stands, squinting at me, his hair messy from sleep. His eyes immediately harden when they see me, and I drop my gaze.

"..You sorted everything out." I say after a moment.

"I said I would." He replies flatly. "..And I owe you some money."

I frown, and he continues. 

  
"Father's will."

I rub at the back of my head, confused. "I thought it all went to mother?"

Tommy sighs, a long sigh that has him closing his eyes, and rubbing at his jaw. He looks absolutely shattered. He's been to hell and back, and it's all my fault. He opens the door a little wider, and then looks at me again. "..It did." He says. "..She's dead."

My first thought is instantly that he killed her, and I feel ashamed. Even within a business like ours, it's family first. Still, the shock bubbles through my veins, my mouth falling open. I try and ask why, how, but the words don't come.

 

"First night. I went to bed. Doctor gave her some sleeping tablets. She took the whole bottle with a side of brandy."

His words are wry, but weary. 

"I buried her in the family plot. With them. No funeral."

 

I nod slowly, my eyes fixed on the doorframe. In shock. I've lost a whole family. 

"..Tommy.." I begin, my eyes finding my brother's, not even sure how to begin apologising. He just shakes his head.

"I don't want to see you again, Jim." He says, and the words aren't malicious. They're just flat. Exhausted. "You can have two hundred."

"..Two hundred."

"Thousand."

My eyes widen again, but I try and blink away the shock. Two hundred grand is an insane amount of money. But.. Tommy doesn't want to see me again. I suppose I understand. Of course, I do. We're silent for a long time, and Tommy shifts, rubbing at his eyes. I hope he doesn't go the same way as my mother with the drinking. He doesn't look too good right now.

"..Look after yourself, Tommy." I say quietly, and he nods. 

"You too, Jim. I'll post the money. Send me an address." He frowns at me for a minute, and then says;  "Stay safe."

He closes the door, and I don't walk away for a long few minutes. 

 

\--

**SEBASTIAN**

 

When Jim comes back to me with the news, I try to feel happy. It's difficult, and I can't muster more than a small smile. I'd assumed I'd get the house if I wasn't found guilty of the murders, but the compassionate leave is a surprise. Maybe that's what happens when you lose all the family you have left.

 

I wrap my arms around Jim, tell him I'm sorry about his mother. We start to kiss, and that night, we make love again - and that's what it is. Love. It's all hands and mouths and comfort, embraces and kisses and warmth beneath the blankets. It's what we both needed. We fall asleep holding each other.

 

I think I'm beginning to come back to myself. A little bit. 

 

Maybe one day, we can escape this place. The memories are stifling, and I haven't even been outside.

 

Jim tells me about Annie, and I hope she's ok. I'm not ok. 

 

\--

 

**JIM**

 

Exactly a week to the day, it's the funeral. Ma's funeral. The funeral of Bette Moran, and Sebastian and I have to go. I saw it on the church sign, when stealing more bread. I don't find it ironic that a baker's boy has to steal bread. It's just sad. Just a reminder.

 

But we have to go. Sebastian agrees with me until the morning of the day. He sits in the bunker in his suit, his hands in his hair, and says very quietly that he can't do it. 

 

"I'm going." I say, as boldly as I can manage, and tighten my tie. "I'm going to go for your mother, because she loved you, and she made you who you are. And she helped me, and she cared for me. And I owe her an arm on her coffin."

I've already decided to be a pallbearer. There aren't enough young men in this town anymore, all back in duty, and I won't have her coffin.. wheeled along. That gets Sebastian out, at least. 

 

The courtyard outside the church falls silent as we appear, voices hushing as eyes find us. I nod at a few faces in the crowd, but Sebastian keeps his head down. He's an innocent man, now. A soldier, kept home by tragedy. Given riches that he never wanted. Women watch him with eagerness, false pity  in their features. He doesn't seem to notice a single one, focusing on the coffin. We carry one side each, with two boys from the funeral parlour helping us too. We walk slowly up the aisle, and by the time we set down the coffin, the rest of the funeralgoers have sat down on the pews. We take our seats at the front.

 

The pastor talks about Bette Moran with reverence. He smiles as he speaks, reminiscing about her Victoria Spongecakes, her kindness and her boisterous enthusiasm to get to work at the factory. He talks about her love for those close to her, her caring heart, and her love of music. I wonder for a moment what anyone might have said about my parents. They wouldn't have had words as kind of these. Probably none at all. The family plots with no funerals.

 

My father never did get the honourable death that he so craved for others.

 

We manage to make it through the bible verses. Through our hymns. But Sebastian slumps forwards, shoulders shaking as they play the songs. We'll Meet Again by Vera Lynn. Doris Day's We'll Be Together Again. Frank Sinatra's I'll Be Seeing You.

 

I wonder if he's remembering dancing around the kitchen with her, like he told me. I'm thinking about us, and that first date on the grass. I know he got his love of music from her. I owe her so much. So much, for him. My Sebastian. I slide an arm around his waist, and he grips onto my shoulder, trying hard to control himself. A few hushed murmurs run through the crowd, and I know that they're talking about us. I don't care. Not anymore. 

 

We carry her out to Perry Como's I'm Always Chasing Rainbows. I don't recognise the song, but Sebastian tells me that it was one of her favourites as we set the coffin on the stints, and they lower her into the ground. The grave is right beside Sebastian's Da's. He squeezes my fingers tight as we listen to the last few words of the pastor.. watch each friend step forwards, and set flowers down by the grave. After Annie sets down her floral arrangement, she runs over, and throws her arms around Sebastian. They stand like that for a long while, and she tells him how proud Ma was of him. I could have told him that. 

 

Anyone could see it. She adored him. 

 

They drift away one by one, and at last, the pastor shakes Sebastian's hand, and we're alone. I step forward, and set down the flowers that we brought.

 

Coneflowers, wrapped in baking parchment.

 

  
_Thanks for everything_ , I say inside my head. _I'll look after him now._  


 

\--

**SEBASTIAN**

 

I know that Ma would have been happy with her funeral. Who am I kidding? She'd have been up, and dancing to those songs. Her favourites. I know that Annie was behind that. I... wouldn't have been able to face the planning, I know that much. 

 

Jim and I stand at the grave for a long while, and then soon after, move to sit at a bench a few metres away. The cemetery is further back from the church, and on a hill. We can look over the whole town from here, and see the sun beginning to set behind the houses. Ma would have loved this. It's perfect for her.

 

Jim and I sit in silence, the both of us thick in our thoughts. He's been my rock, throughout today. It's hard to believe that he's lost so many, when I've lost just one. And yet the both of us have lost a whole family. I take his hand, and he looks over at me, and gives a slow, sad smile.

"How are you feeling?" He asks me, and I don't answer. We both know. Though I feel a lot better, now. Ma is at rest. She's with my Da, dancing through the sky. At least, that's how I'm going to think about it. And it's a damned nice place to have your final rest. The sunset spreads, pink and orange across the sky, the sun slotting between the houses, and casting a shadow over the green. Jim doesn't prompt me for an answer, and we sit in the warmth of the setting sun, his fingers stroking over mine. 

 

I'm glad I found him. Even after everything that's happened.

"..I'm going to sell the house." I say at last, and Jim looks at me, trying to keep his expression nonchalant as he nods. But he's relieved, I can tell. He squeezes my fingers. Relieved that I'm making plans for the future, to move forward. That I'm talking, properly.

 

"It's a good idea." He agrees, and then after a moment, more quietly. "..There's nothing here for me."

The world is our oyster, I suppose. Even if it doesn't feel like it, right now. 

"Do we have any transferable skills?" He asks me jokingly, his eyebrows raised.

"..I can kill." We say, at the same time. His tone is disgruntled. Mine is questioning. We glance at each other, and laugh.

 

The sound is small and quiet, and it sounds strange from my lips. But it gives me hope. Hope that maybe one day, we can find happiness again. Be together. Get through this.

 

"Thank you." I say, and look at him, lacing and unlacing our fingers. He tilts his head at me, and I go on. "..For being here. For.. helping me. I know I haven't been.." I frown, hoping he knows what I mean. I've barely been living, this past week.

 

He just smiles, and after a moment, I start humming, the slow, ending verse of 'We'll Meet Again'. 

"..She'd want you to be happy, Seb." Jim says to me, his voice gentle.

"I am happy."

He gives me a look, and I roll my eyes. I bring his hand to my lips, and kiss the back, my voice quieter.  
"..Alright. I  _can_  be happy. One day." I arch an eyebrow. "..Wait for me?"

 

Jim chuckles quietly, and shifts closer to me on the bench. I can see the sun setting, reflected in his eyes.   
"..I always thought you'd ask me that. Never.. quite like that, though."

I look back, and give a small smile to the coneflowers, fluttering in the wind, as I slip an arm around Jim's shoulders. The sun sets on another day in the town, and I think for a long moment, before saying quietly.

"..Let's do it, sweet. Let's go to Devon."

It may not be a lot, but it's the beginning of a plan. A new future, a new hope. If I've got Jim, then I've got the world. I can do anything. With what we've been through.. we can do anything. Get through anything. He turns to me, and his smile is a little bigger, the hand that slides to my cheek soft as he nods. He's all I need. Jim, an old beaten-up wireless, and a few old blankets. 

 

We're broken, but we're not beaten. 

 

We're down, but we're not out.

 

We might have lost this battle.. But we sure as hell haven't lost the war.

 

 

\--


End file.
